


cracks in our foundation

by ang3lba3, Mellomailbox



Series: Real Housewives of Republic City [4]
Category: Avatar: The Last Airbender
Genre: Alternate Universe, Angst, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Angst with a Happy Ending, Cultural Differences, Developing Relationship, Drama, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Established Relationship, F/M, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Light BDSM, M/M, Mildly Dubious Consent, Past Abuse, Recreational Drug Use, Relationship Negotiation, Republic City, Soap Opera, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms, Zuko is an Awkward Turtleduck, Zuko's an abuse survivor
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-11
Updated: 2020-11-01
Packaged: 2021-03-07 22:00:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 30,107
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26944819
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ang3lba3/pseuds/ang3lba3, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mellomailbox/pseuds/Mellomailbox
Summary: It's a beautiful summer in Republic City. Katara is pregnant, Hakoda and Bato are visiting, and Sokka and Zuko?They're in love. And they'regoodat it. Yeah. They aresogood....right? They're good at it.
Relationships: Aang/Katara (Avatar), Bato/Hakoda (Avatar), Sokka/Zuko (Avatar)
Series: Real Housewives of Republic City [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1811134
Comments: 80
Kudos: 204





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hey guys, we wanted to make two major disclaimers. This is one of our favorite things we've been writing, but I need to warn for heavy angst and mild dubious content in regards to Zuko's being an abuse survivor at an extremely unhealthy point in his life. If you'd like spoilers regarding the specifics of the abuse and where it's going, leave a comment and we'll reply. The dubcon tag is for the Zukka, in regards to Zuko's bad coping skills. 
> 
> Another disclaimer is that we're about to start getting into some heavy and cool worldbuilding, but it's fantasy worldbuilding. Mercy and I have no intention of pulling from vague cultural traditions of real life people, as that seems exploitative and inappropriate. We're worldbuilding from scratch, using the barest hint of ATLA canon and molding into something different that we find interesting for the purpose of the story.

“Have you ever been to a water tribe birth celebration?” Sokka asks Zuko. 

There’s so many people here. It’s most of Ice Town, and his dad had traveled up for the event. They’re sitting in a circle around Katara, who’s kneeling in the center, hands on her belly. Snow drifts around them gently, the spirits blessing Katara with bright sunlight and gentle weather. 

“Is that not what this is?” Zuko whispers, tilting his head towards Sokka. 

Sokka leans in, their fur hoods brushing, to whisper back. “Well, typically we do it after the birth, except Katara and Aang are going to take the baby to do monk things. So they compromised.” 

They compromised a _lot._ Katara said she couldn’t travel to the South Pole, that her clients needed her, so the Chief and Uncle Bato had traveled to her. Katara had said she was doing it _now,_ while she was still fairly mobile, rather than closer to the birth. And even though it was early summer, Aang and her and five other waterbenders were working to keep a patch of the ocean frozen and snow in the air. 

Sokka doesn’t think about how the tribe won’t compromise for him. He glances at Zuko, nose red, pink-cheeked, and can’t help but to feel bitter about the _could haves._

Then Zuko smiles at him, red nose crinkling up, and the bitterness dissipates. 

“Hey, take your hand out of your mitten,” he whispers. 

A gentle thrumming begins, seeming to start in the ice beneath them. Sokka grins and takes Zuko’s warmed hand in his before joining in. He hits the ground with his mittened hand, keeping the beat with the others sitting around Katara, raising his eyebrows at Zuko. 

Zuko taps the ice softly, nervously, and at Sokka’s encouraging nod does so more firmly. He probably should have written out instructions like Zuko asked, but this way is more fun. Gives him an excuse to talk during too, which he _knows_ is driving Katara crazy. She has to remain silent and serene for most of it. 

“What are we doing?” 

“Beating the ice,” Sokka whispers. Katara shoots him a dirty look that instantly shifts back into serenity. 

“...stupid question,” Zuko mutters, and keeps hitting it. His hand is so warm he’s melting a divot, splashing a little. 

Sokka squeezes Zuko’s fingers and huffs a laugh, puffing white around their faces. “We’re beating life into the baby, is the short version.” 

Zuko makes a face, but doesn’t say whatever he’s thinking. It’s probably because Sokka used ‘beating’ and ‘baby’ in the same sentence. 

He’s never, ever, _ever_ writing an instruction manual. This is so much better.

There’s a shout from Hakoda, loud and joyful, and Sokka shoots to his feet and howls too. 

“Oh my gods no,” Katara says, covering her face, because she had _explicitly_ asked for them not to do this part. This part is unique to them and their family, and Sokka doesn’t even know how it started. 

Zuko is still holding Sokka’s hand, but he’s sitting down, so his arm has jerked up. He’s staring up at Sokka, insistent and startled.

“MY DAUGHTER!” Hakoda shouts, and everyone cheers. Katara is hunched down, shoulders to her ears. They’re probably so red. She’s gonna be _so mad._

“MY SISTER!” Sokka yells. He pulls Zuko to his feet, heart so happy it hurts, and smooches him. 

Everyone else starts shouting praises at Katara, who she is to them or what they think of her. Not everyone is participating, but those of them closest to the Chief’s family who are familiar with the tradition do. 

“My doctor?” Zuko calls, hesitantly. 

Katara hears him over the din somehow, and starts laughing, shoulders shaking. 

Zuko looks mortified, and that won’t do at all. 

“HIS DOCTOR!” Sokka calls, and sweeps his arms around Zuko’s waist, rocking them back and forth in a little dance.

“MY DOCTOR!” Someone else calls, wanting in on the festivities, then others add to it, jumping and cheering, throwing gentle handfuls of snow at Katara. 

“DAMN GOOD DOCTOR!” and “BEST ON A BUDGET!” and “FIXED MY TOE A RIGHT TREAT!” fill the air. 

Hakoda waves to Sokka over the heads of people, gesturing them over. Zuko starts to stand to follow but Sokka shakes his head, untangling his fingers. “Family only,” he whispers, and slips between the furs. 

“My waterbending master,” Aang says, grinning widely. He offers her a hand up.

“Your _wife,_ ” Katara corrects. 

Aang nods, contemplative. “My _doctor.”_

Katara pulls herself to her feet, the better to shove some of the snow on her down the front of Aang’s coat. 

Sokka, not to be outdone, lifts Katara with his arms around her waist so that Hakoda and Bato can shove snow in her boots. This part isn’t tradition; it’s just _fun._

_****_

Sokka leaves him behind, slipping through the crowd to be with his family. Zuko shoves his hand back in his mitten, focusing on that instead of the yelling strangers.

It’s fine. It’s fine. It’s traditional, probably. 

It would be _more fine_ if Sokka had told him to _expect_ it.

He feels out of his element, both literally and metaphorically. It’s too cold, but he doesn’t like firebending too obviously near Katara — it’s disrespectful, when it’s her day. She’s distracted and he still can’t quite bring himself to do it.

“How long have you known Sokka, then?” an older woman asks him, cordial as anything.

“Uh,” Zuko says. “A few years.”

“Close friends?” she asks, clearly eyeing his neck. It’s covered by a scarf.

“Um?” Zuko says, voice pitching up. “Yeah we’re— yeah— we’re. Close.”

“I see. Well, tell him that my sweet Miyuki misses him,” she says, turning back to the festivities, dismissing him easily. 

Zuko shoves his mittened hands inside his pockets, shoulders hunching in. 

They never did work out what they were to each other. He’s tried bringing it up again, he’s brought home books about the five relationships, but Sokka blows him off or distracts him.

(Often through blowing.) 

And with the mention of a Miyuki who misses him, Zuko can’t help but scan his eyes around, looking for anyone who could have been— who could have, with Sokka. He doesn’t learn anything. Of course he doesn’t. Sokka could have dated _anyone_ here and he wouldn’t know, because Sokka doesn’t like to talk about things like that. His past, their present, their future. It’s like he’s allergic to the concept of time.

The crowd starts to disperse, well wishers moving to the front and others drifting away. Zuko stays standing where he is, looking nervously for Sokka or hell, for _Aang,_ anyone familiar. 

“Zuko?” someone says, and Zuko turns too quickly, eyes wide. The man who’d been standing with Sokka’s father comes up to him, smiling wide but tight at the corners, likely just as uncertain about Zuko’s place here as Zuko himself is. 

“That’s me,” Zuko says. He pushes his hood back, even though it’s _freezing,_ wanting to show the proper amount of deference. This is probably an Uncle, maybe even Sokka’s step-dad. Or an older cousin. Or their favorite restaurant owner. Or literally anyone, because _Sokka didn’t tell him._

The man pulls Zuko’s hood back up with a laugh, passing him a flask. It’s warm, even through the mittens, and the man shows him a matching one that he tucks into the sleeve of his parka. “Helps against the cold,” he explains. “If it cools down just take it to any of the fires.” 

“Oh, that won’t be a problem,” Zuko says. He’s weirdly stung that this stranger, who may or may not be their mailman, doesn’t know he’s a firebender. He glances around for Katara. He doesn’t see her, so he finally lets himself take in a breath and let it out as flames, warming his face. 

The man jumps back, eyes wide. Zuko immediately swallows the rest, coughing smoke, and the man visibly clears the horror off of his face.

“Sorry!” Zuko says, covering his mouth like he can undo it. 

“No— I’m sorry. Bending is a gift from the spirits, I shouldn’t have,” the man starts to say. 

“No, it’s my fault,” Zuko says. His throat is rough from an unfinished breath. “I know Katara is afraid of fire, I should have figured others would be.”

The man pulls down the side of his parka, revealing familiar warped red and white down his neck. It disappears underneath the edge of the furs, and he can imagine how far down it goes. “She and I are both pretty jumpy. Don’t be offended, I don’t even like sleeping with a fire in my hut.” 

Zuko seriously considers melting himself through the ice. 

“Matchies,” Zuko says weakly, gesturing at his own face and then at the man’s side. “I mean. I get it. I don’t, but I get the— concept— of—” 

“I’m Bato,” Bato says, and crosses his arms. “By the way. And since we know each other so well now,” he winks, “I’ll tell you this. I think it’s incredibly brave mastering something that hurt you. Like I said, I can’t even light the campfires.” 

Zuko feels faint. Is it— hot out here somehow now? What? What the fuck? 

“Hhhh,” he says, under his breath. _You too_ isn’t going to work on this one. “Uh. You… you… you’ve got great cheekbones.”

“I’m flattered,” Bato says. “But taken. By the Chief.” He gestures to where Hakoda and Sokka are talking animatedly. 

So not the fucking mail man. 

Zuko rubs a hand over his face. “Yeah I’m also taken,” he says. “By the— by— or I’m not. If that’s not what he told _you._ ”

It occurs to him at the last second that maybe Sokka didn’t tell him about everyone because he doesn’t want everyone to know that they’re any degree of serious. Maybe kissing each other on the mouth is normal for friends, or casual dating. Maybe they’re friends who are casually dating.

“Sokka?” Bato asks, and then doesn’t follow up with anything Zuko can hyperfocus on to distract from _Sokka Sokka Sokka._

“If that’s what he told you!” Zuko says brightly, because he’s great at this. 

“Sokka’s not known for being a great communicator,” Bato says wryly. “But he invited you here.” 

Zuko is frozen between agreeing with him immediately and not ever saying anything bad about Sokka ever. 

“I _am_ here,” Zuko says carefully. 

“At a birthing ceremony,” Bato adds. 

“Katara invited me,” Zuko admits. 

“And Sokka brought you?” Bato clarifies. 

“I mean, we live together,” Zuko says. 

Bato’s eyebrows meet his hairline. 

“Or don’t! We don’t do that if that’s not good,” Zuko says. 

“...I’m sure that a letter got lost somewhere,” Bato manages, brows furrowing in thought. “How long have you--”

“It’s—” Zuko says, not really wanting to get into his biggest shame with Sokka’s step-dad. “It’s complicated. We don’t? I just stay there almost every night. He doesn’t want me to _live there_ , live there though. It’s—” 

“No need to explain anything else to me,” Bato says, eyebrows darting upwards again and then staying there. “No need to explain _anything_ else.”

“Great weather we’re having?” Zuko tries.

“SIFU HOTMAN!” Aang shouts, and Zuko cringes. The preparation pays off, because strong Airbender arms wrap around him and lift him into the air. 

“We’re so, _so_ happy you made it, we _missed_ you at Bumi’s birthday,” Aang says, squeezing as hard as he can for emphasis. 

Zuko wheezes. “You’re warm,” he says, and Aang drops him and grins. 

“Learned from the best! Watch,” and Zuko turns to Bato in horror as Aang takes a deep breath, flames licking out of his nose on the exhale. 

Bato doesn’t even flinch. “Hello, Aang.”

“Uncle Bato!” Aang says, and charges forward. He’s still smoking a little as he picks up Bato in the exact same way. Bato wheezes as well. 

Zuko notes, bitterly, that he does it quieter.

“We’re going to have tea and dinner at the Jasmine Dragon!” Aang says, spinning. He doesn’t put Bato down, even as the conversation is directed at Zuko. 

“Oh, why?” He asks dumbly. It’s out of their way, and it’s _his_ uncle. It’s not like they need to try and include him, he’s not involved in their life at all. 

Aang’s answer is amused. “Because he just won that award in Republic City Delicacies? Katara’s been _craving_ spicy foods, if I wasn’t spiritually connected to my children I would suspect that the kid is actually yours!” 

“Katara doesn’t have sex,” Zuko says, loudly. Katara, across the ice, glares at him. He shrugs, a _whoopsie doopsie don’t tell me to say that to one family member once if you don’t want me to say it to all your family members forever,_ kinda shrug.

“Isn’t Zuko hilarious?” Aang says to Bato, who’s rolling his arm, probably to try and get some of the blood flow back. It’s not like Aang’s built or anything, but the kid uses airbending like an extra limb and his hugs can crush. “He never used to be this funny! Sokka must be rubbing off on him. He was always moody and rude, but now he’s full of jokes!” 

“Yes,” Bato says steadily. “Sokka _is_ rubbing off on him.”

Obviously Bato doesn’t mean it to be an innuendo. He’s Sokka’s _Dad._

“It sure is cold!” Zuko declares, hiding his face further in his scarf to hide his blush. 

“So, Aang, how long have Sokka and Zuko lived together?” Bato asks, wrapping an arm around Aang’s shoulders. He ignores Zuko entirely. 

“Oh, you know, I don’t even know? It’s been a few months at least, hasn’t it? HEY SOKKA HOW LONG HAVE YOU BEEN SHACKING UP WITH—”

Zuko charges forward, one arm taking Aang behind the back and sweeping him away from Bato. 

“Let’s go to my Uncle’s!” Zuko says, grinning frantically. “We have to go soon or we’ll get caught in the rush! Would hate that! Let’s leave here forever!”

Sokka’s head pokes up like a Giraffe-Deer, looking around for Aang. 

“We reserved,” Aang says, and Zuko can tell by the glint of his eye that he’s being had. What a little conniving _shit._ This is entirely Katara’s fault, before Aang was just _annoying._

“I’m never teaching you a firebending trick again,” Zuko says through his smile. Bato is catching up to them. “Unless we go to my Uncle’s right now.”

“You’re a true friend, Zuko,” Aang says loudly, hooking their arms. Oh, Agni, no. Aang turns to Katara, calls out “BYE, BABE,” and then air-runs away, arm locked onto Zuko hard enough to bruise. And also so that he can’t escape. 

“PUT ME DOWN PUT ME DOWN PUT ME DOWN,” Zuko shrieks.

“Aww, you don’t mean that buddy,” Aang says, and does a loop-de-loop by using some terrifying air and fire kicks.

***

Sokka brings Zuko a change of clothes, because it’s summer in Republic City and Aang kidnapped him before he could change out of the parka. 

“I told your other dad that we’re living together and he knows we have sex,” Zuko hisses as soon as they’re enclosed in the Jasmine Dragon’s small employee bathroom. He’s struggling with the parka, hands shaking.

Sokka helps, ignoring the pools of sweat in Zuko’s undershirt and the way his hair is sticking to his face and neck. Spirits, but he’s a mess. By “other dad” he must mean Bato. 

Zuko turns on the sink, and then shoves his head under the tap.

“Why couldn’t I drown out _there?”_ he moans, voice echoing in the sink’s basin.

“Bato doesn’t care that I sleep with men,” Sokka says, trying to decipher why Zuko’s being dramatic about all of this. “I mean, he’ll tease me, but he’s kinda also dating another man?” 

“He cares about _something,_ ” Zuko says grimly, standing up. He grabs a towel off the hand rack, shoves it underneath the stream and then wrings it out to scrub at his pits. “Why didn’t you mention me to them? He acted like you should have.”

Sokka kicks the sweaty clothes behind a crate of soaps. They can come back for them later, and he doesn’t really feel like lugging them up to Zuko’s room. “I did mention you to them, I mention you all the time,” Sokka says. 

Zuko turns to glare at him, mouth twisted into a furious little pout, starting to scrub his other armpit. 

“What? I do. I write to them every few weeks, practically. Did he say something?” If Bato said anything to Zuko about marriage or heirs Sokka’s gonna be furious. Out of the two of them, Bato’s the one to do it, too. 

“His eyebrows said something,” Zuko intones. He throws the cloth in the sink, twists the tap closed. Grips the edge of the porcelain and stares directly into the mirror, grim and sad. He looks like the main character of a play about divorce in the second act haircut breakdown.

“I’m familiar with those eyebrows,” Sokka mutters, imagining the look that Zuko received. “You’re overreacting,” he adds, not unkindly, stepping behind him to run his fingers through Zuko’s damp hair, twisting it into a newer, cleaner braid. 

“You don’t even know what I’m reacting to,” Zuko says. His shoulders have softened though, and his grip on the sink is more of a lean. 

Sokka slips his hand into Zuko’s front pocket, digging for a hair tie. “Okay? Tell me what you’re overreacting to.” 

“You,” Zuko says. He snaps a tie off his wrist and presses it into Sokka’s hand. He does not elaborate.

The tie is a silky black, disappearing against the black of Zuko’s hair where Sokka has the braid pinched together at the end. He should get some in other colors, like blue or yellow. “Me?” he asks absently, tucking away stray hairs. 

“I don’t want to do this again right now,” Zuko sighs. “I was ‘overreacting’, sure. Are you done with my hair?”

“Never,” Sokka says, instead of pushing Zuko to clarify. The tone and the use of the phrase ‘do this’ is enough to send Sokka’s hackles rising, and he distracts them both with a kiss to Zuko’s neck. He wraps his arms around Zuko’s waist, pinning him, and leans his chest against his back. 

Zuko’s hands go to rest lightly over Sokka’s forearms, and he keels gently forward to press his forehead against the streaky mirror. 

“Families are dumb,” Sokka says, peppering kisses along the back of Zuko’s neck. 

“I’ll drink to that,” Zuko murmurs. He stretches, pressing his body back against Sokka as he raises onto his toes, arms up to the ceiling, fingers brushing the low tile. “Can we drink? You think Uncle would break it out for me?”

“Your Uncle would break it out for a Pai Sho game,” Sokka huffs, fingers digging into Zuko’s armpits where he’s left them vulnerable. He can’t help it, they’re _right there_ and his other thoughts are going in a less than appropriate direction for the Jasmine Dragon’s employee bathroom.

Zuko yelps, and starts thrashing. Sokka narrowly avoids an elbow, a hand, a headbutt, and a shoulder to the face. 

There’s a banging on the door. 

“Are you _decent?”_ Katara asks through the wood, her tone heavily implying they’re incapable of it. “We want to order at some point.”

“Then order!” Sokka calls, kneeing the back of Zuko’s thigh in an attempt to get another embarrassing noise out of him. He delivers, something high and breathy, and Sokka practically feels Katara debating waterbending the door down. 

“He’s _tickling_ me,” Zuko calls, trying to break free again. 

“GROSS,” Katara says, banging the door again. “NOBODY WANTS TO KNOW THAT. I’m ordering you the vegetarian plate!” 

Sokka gasps, hands flying towards the door, palms up as if Katara can see him. “I’m done, I stopped!” He calls, panicking. It would be rude not to eat something cooked by someone else, let alone Zuko’s _family._

But no meat? 

Zuko darts towards the door as well, forgetting he’s still shirtless and dripping slightly. They collide in the half open doorway, an awkward tangle of limbs.

“PUT SOME CLOTHES ON,” Katara hollers, shoving the door closed on them. It keeps catching on a different part of their bodies, and Zuko’s making these increasingly loud protests about how he’s not doing anything sexual and _never has_.

Sokka’s laughing too hard to see, but he drags Zuko in by his arm and slams him back against the blessedly closed door. “Shirt,” he chokes out, shoving the fabric against his chest. His suspenders are still hanging on the sink, and Sokka’d even made Zuko a new vest for the occasion. It’s hanging on the back of the door, gold and black silk with a dragon twining around the steam of a cup of tea. 

“I hate this,” Zuko moans, slipping the shirt on and buttoning it as fast as he can. “Go order for us, I want spi—”

“Spicy noodles,” Sokka finishes for him. He wants to see the vest on him, but he wants to eat something other than the _steamed veg platter_ more. So he steals a swift kiss, Zuko’s protest muffled, and slips out the door.

When he makes it into the private dining room it goes up in hoots and jeers, and Sokka grins, giving a wave and a bow. 

“That was fast!” Toph hollers, and Sokka moves to their seats. 

“Well, you know me, Toph,” Sokka demures. “Quality _and_ speed.”

“With Zuko?” Bato asks him, and Sokka thinks about what conversation he could have had with Zuko to stir up his nervous energy like that. Sokka props his chin on his hand and looks at him and his dad. 

“I don’t kiss and tell,” he decides, and whatever Bato was going to add gets cut off by his dad. 

“Good,” his dad says, approvingly. “That’s how it _should_ be.”

***

The dinner goes really well, Zuko thinks. He’s aching and tired when it finally wraps up, ready to smoke and go to bed. 

Sokka had snuck into the back partway through, getting eyebrows from his dads and some of the friends who aren’t familiar with the family ties. 

He’d returned with a cup of fire flower tea, heavily steeped. He’d placed it by Zuko’s elbow and then continued the night like nothing had happened, like Zuko’s not _dying_ of mixed signals. 

Well, at least he’s not alone in them. For their entire relationship he’s felt like he’s just seeing things that nobody else does, getting messages that don’t mean the same to other people. But throughout the night Sokka’s dads get more and more pensive, watching the two of them, the easy way that Sokka touches him. 

“That’s a nice vest,” Bato says to him after he spills some tea and starts dabbing at it frantically. 

“Thanks,” Zuko says, managing a real smile even through the stress. “Quality and speed. Sokka made it in only a week if you can believe it.”

Toph shoots tea out of her nose and Zuko glares at her uselessly. 

“Sokka made that?” Hakoda asks, and Zuko turns to Sokka to see him blushing and staring at his empty plate. 

Is he… a secret tailor? A… closeted embroiderer? 

“I told you he’s good,” Katara pipes up. “Zuko, stand up so that they can see the back!” 

“No, he doesn’t need to,” Sokka says, grabbing Zuko’s arm.

Zuko so rarely gets the chance to embarrass him. Part of him wants to take pity, knowing how awful this is.

The rest of him is remembering _every time this week alone_ Sokka had done this to him.

“Nonsense,” Zuko says brightly. He pushes his chair back, ignoring Sokka’s clinging fingers as he stands and turns. It makes him near sick with nerves to give this many people his back, neck leaning forward and hair swept over his shoulder. 

“So the impressive part about this piece is that he learned the embroidery method of the Fire Nation silk sewers, because he’s like that about details.”

Fuck. Zuko’s eyes widen. 

“Oh, I _did_ learn that,” Sokka says. “But I wouldn’t say it was impressive. After all, I had a great _sifu._ ”

There are a lot of eyes on him. He feels suddenly as if he’s in the ring, and that puts things into perspective. He’s being watched, his outfit examined. Zuko’s been through this dozens of times. 

He’s just putting on a show, and the show is to help Sokka’s social status. He can do that.

“He did that by hand? That must have cost you a fortune,” Bato says to Zuko. 

“Should have,” Zuko agrees, sitting down. 

“I don’t charge for gifts,” Sokka says. 

Sokka’s dads both give him a look that has Sokka shrinking and looking away. It’s not mean or sharp in any way that Zuko’s familiar with. If anything, it’s curious, and Zuko doesn’t understand Sokka’s reaction. 

“It’s a lovely gift,” Zuko says, and catches Sokka’s hand. He keeps eye contact with Hakoda and then Bato as he speaks. “I wouldn’t be able to put a price on what it means to me.”

Ha, _chew on that._ He just made Sokka look _so good._

The silence stretches in a way that is familiar, and Zuko, a veteran at causing a scene at dinner parties by talking out of turn, tightens his grip on Sokka’s hand. 

“But I can put a price on the dinner,” he says as lightly as he can force out. “I can cover it?”

Bato’s eyebrows jump again, and yeah, Zuko can see how Sokka’s able to be familiar with it. “That’s not how this works,” Bato says, amused. 

“Zuko,” Hakoda says, leaning forward. “Katara’s my daughter. It’s my responsibility to take care of the festivities, since her mother isn’t around to do it herself.” 

“Sorry,” Zuko says, face flushed with shame. He doesn’t let go of Sokka’s hands, but he’s tempted to dig his nails in. _Why didn’t you write me a fucking pamphlet?_

“Don’t be.” Hakoda smiles warmly and reaches out to touch the back of Zuko’s other hand where it’s twitching nervously by his cup of tea. “I understand the sentiment. It’s nice to know that my children have such generous people in their lives.” 

Zuko flinches before Hakoda can touch him. It knocks some silverware into the china of his tea cup, loud and sharp in the quiet murmur of the party. Then he panics, overcompensates, and grabs Hakoda’s hand, twisting their fingers together. 

Yeah. The dinner goes great. 

“We should walk Katara and Aang to their carriage,” Sokka says while Hakoda is paying the bill. Uncle is laughing uproariously at something he’d just said, and Hakoda is clapping him on the back in a friendly manner, grinning broadly. 

“Will your dads need someone to help them find their hotel?” Zuko asks. He’s got the sweaty clothing from the bathroom over his arm, hugging it to his stomach. 

Sokka stills in that way that means he’s fucked up and Zuko’s about to pay for it. Already seeing where this could possibly go, Zuko tugs on Sokka’s sleeve. 

“Hey. Sokka. Your dads have a ride to their hotel, _right?_ ” 

“Interestingly,” Sokka says, rolling his tongue over his lips. “That’s a _yes_ and a _no._ Because they _do_ have a ride, but—”

“Are you boys going to walk Katara and Aang out, or are we just leaving?” Bato asks, walking up. 

Zuko glances around for anything to save him from himself. Toph’s already leaving with Aang and Katara, the traitor. Now he can’t use any of them as an excuse to get away. 

“Ah, well, I have to wash these,” Zuko tries, turning away. Sokka looks at him with big eyes that Zuko very much ignores. “Uncle has the _best_ washboard—”

“That I would be very happy to let you borrow,” Uncle says smoothly, walking forward. He’s bumping elbows with Hakoda, they’re standing so close. 

_Traitors traitors traitors._

“You know what? Pass those here, what’s an old man for but to help his young nephew?” 

“An old man should rest,” Zuko says, holding onto the clothing as Uncle tries to yank it out of his hands.

“We should,” Bato laughs, clapping the back of Sokka’s neck with his hand. “But I wouldn’t call us old!” 

The sound startles Zuko, and his fingers lose purchase. Uncle rips them from him, and then folds them over his arm, smiling genially the whole time.

Fuck. There’s nothing for it. He’s worked too hard making himself a part of Sokka’s home to go back to calling the room at the Jasmine Dragon his. If he did that now, who knows how much work it would take to get back? 

He can smoke on the roof. He’ll just have to tie himself to the bedpost first, in case he falls. And not go in any of the common areas. Unless they’re giving up their bedroom. Oh Agni, they’re going to _walk_ into the _same bedroom—_

“Zuko, will you grab the tea leaves your uncle left for us?” Hakoda asks, arms full with two large leather bags, presumably filled with their belongings. 

Zuko nods mechanically, grabbing the box. It’s heavier than he expected, and his face winces into a frown at the strain on his tense shoulders before he smooths it out. The facial expression _hurts._ He wasn’t expecting to be out this late. 

“That oughta last you a year at least,” Sokka says, taking the box from Zuko and examining it. He takes Zuko’s hand with his other one, squeezing, _are you mad?_

“I had it,” Zuko says tightly. _Yes._

“I know,” Sokka agrees, and gets caught up in a conversation about tea preparation with his dads. 

They head home.

To their home.

Which Sokka hasn’t protested to Zuko calling it in three weeks and four days. 

***

“This one is yours,” Sokka says, gesturing to the bottom unit. He’d completely forgotten that Zuko _lives with him now_. It’s a stupid oversight. He’s literally living with him, how did he forget?!

But his dad and Bato usually stay with Katara, and when she said she didn’t have enough room because Aang’s cousin way staying with them it hadn’t even crossed his mind to let Zuko know they’d be staying with him, because duh, he’s their _son._

Obviously, Zuko would have misconceptions about the duty of a son to his dad. 

“Something wrong with your living room?” his dad asks quizzically. 

“Oh, well. I actually own the whole building? And this unit hasn’t been filled yet, so I figured—” 

“Woooow,” Bato says, and then whistles, turning in a circle. “Sokka’s playing with the big boys now. A whole building?” 

“Two,” Zuko says. He’s sullen, not really paying attention. “Is it three?”

Zuko’s not helping. Sure, it looks good to Zuko’s family to have wealth and power and assets. Sokka comes from a small tribe that prides itself on perseverance and making the most of their means. This sort of extravagance, _city_ abundance, is almost shameful. 

To his family, all it looks like is that he’s putting down roots and picking up another place’s ways. Like he thinks he’s above them.

“I provide sanctuary to people without papers,” Sokka finds himself saying, stupid and out in the open. 

Zuko slaps his shoulder, old wariness in his eyes. “We’re in the _hall_ , Sokka.”

Shit fuck. He has nothing to be defensive about! “I know, I know!” Sokka whispers, passing the key to his dad. 

“Don’t admit to _crime_ in the hallway,” Zuko hisses back. He attempts to share a commiserating glance with Bato and his dad.

They do not return it. 

“...we’ll see you for breakfast,” his dad says.

“Bright and early,” Bato confirms. He’s doing the eyebrow thing again. They’re getting a real work out.

“I wake up with the sun!” Zuko says helpfully, in that high pitched way of his. Sokka feels the way everyone cringes more than sees it, and he grins wider, taking Zuko’s hand and pulling him away.

“I’m the unit right above you!” Sokka says. 

“I’ll make toast for you!” Zuko calls. He looks slightly panicked, like he wants to stop talking but can’t. “And juice! I can squeeze jui—”

Sokka slams the door of the stairwell shut behind them. Zuko collapses against the railing immediately, strands of hair hanging in his face as he stares down blankly.

“Look,” Sokka starts, but Zuko shakes his head and holds out a hand. Sokka swallows what he was about to say. 

“That was humiliating,” Zuko says flatly. Then he heads up the stairs, head low and shoulders hunched.

“You did great!” Sokka argues, following him and opening the door. He holds it open for Zuko, who glares at him and ducks under his arm.

“Oh, _did_ I?” Zuko gasps, feigning surprise. “I must have missed it! Why don’t you tell me something I did great, Sokka? How about you tell me _one thing.”_

Sokka narrows his eyes, determination in his jaw, and locks the door behind them. His keys go in the dish, his shoes come off, and he unclips his suspenders and lets them hang from his waist. 

Zuko’s digging under the couch for the emergency water weed cream, and when he gets it he flops into the corner seat, unscrewing the tin. He hasn’t even taken his shoes off, dipping his fingers in the cream and spreading it on his face. 

***

“You’re in pain,” Sokka says, and Zuko could fling the tin at him except then he’d waste a bunch of very expensive drugs. 

Instead, he finishes rubbing it into his skin, and sucks his fingers clean so it will hit faster. 

“It took longer than I thought,” he says. He tries for ‘not accusatory’. He doesn’t quite hit. 

Sokka kneels at his feet, hands on his shoes, and starts undoing the laces.

“I can get them,” Zuko argues, but the cream’s starting to hit. He’s too tired to really fight Sokka for it. 

“You did great,” Sokka says again, quieter. “Better than I would have hoped for, if I’d been thinking about it.” Zuko’s socks come next, balled up and stuffed into his shoes, and Sokka starts digging his thumbs into the arch of his foot. 

It’s strange, how his ribs manage to turn inside out _and_ stab him through the heart at the same time. He’d almost forgotten the sensation. It’s been so long since he’s spent a significant amount of time at home. Backhanded compliments are few and far between.

And they don’t usually matter as much.

“Mmm,” Zuko says. He eats some more cream. 

“That’s not the recommended use,” Sokka chastises, reaching for the tin. 

“I’ve recommended it to at least three people,” Zuko says. He lets Sokka take it, though. In this mood he’ll eat until he stops feeling, and that’s not going to happen easily.

Sokka shoves it back under the couch and sets his hands on Zuko’s knees. 

“You were good, Zuko. When you called out that Katara was your doctor?” He’s smiling now, looking to the side. “I thought Aang was going to shit an ice brick, he was trying so hard not to laugh. That’s gonna be one—” 

“Happy to amuse,” Zuko cuts Sokka off. “Love being a clown. Did you know I actually trained to be a clown, briefly?”

The smile falls away and Sokka’s staring at him now. Why’d he say something? He hates it when Sokka stares at him. 

“I did,” Zuko says. “Ty Lee wanted to be an aerialist, and she… set up a whole little circus—” 

“It’s something Aang was planning on saying, you self-depreciating punk. That’s why it was funny. You beat him to it,” Sokka cuts in, standing and pulling Zuko up by his hands. 

Zuko winces, closing his eyes. “So I fucked up his speech.”

He won’t let go of Zuko’s hands. He twists them in Sokka’s grasp, sweaty and shaking, but Sokka just tightens his grip. 

He doesn’t understand why Sokka is _doing_ this. He’s not cruel, not usually. Not on purpose, not so insistently.

“”Cause you know my sister really well, Zuko. And that’s— that’s really cool. I care about Katara a lot, and I guess I just took it for granted that you do too.” 

“Obviously I care about your sister,” Zuko snaps, opening his eyes again. Sokka’s looking at him all soft. “Why would you— I’ve known her for years, why would you say that I don’t care about her?”

The softness goes away, thank fuck, replaced by confusion, Sokka’s nose scrunching up. “I didn’t say that? I said that you do care about her, that you know her really well, and that’s why it was so cool at the--” 

“You said you _took_ it for granted,” Zuko corrects, furious that Sokka thinks he can— act like he isn’t _doing this,_ isn’t twisting Zuko into knots on purpose after an extremely trying day he’d refused to prepare him for. It makes him brave. “Past tense.”

Sokka blinks rapidly the way he does when he’s trying to think but the thoughts are stressful. Zuko hates that he can tell that just from his eyelashes.

“I think we’re misunderstanding each other,” Sokka says. “I’m trying to say nice things about you, and you’re getting mad at me.” 

“Nice—” Zuko scoffs. Sokka just looks more confused, but there’s anger in there now. 

It sours whatever bravery Zuko had found. 

“...I’m just tired,” he says, and his own anger melts immediately, distills into fear. 

Somehow, Sokka gets angrier. “No you’re not. I want to know why you’re upset, Zuko.” He’s still squeezing Zuko’s hands in his. Normally he would find it comforting. 

“I’m not upset,” Zuko says, and smiles. He makes his hands limp. “I’m— thank you, I was mishearing you, you’re right.”

Sokka lets go of him and steps back, brows furrowed. “What? What are you even saying, that’s not--” 

“Thank you for trying to make me feel better,” Zuko says, taking an anxious step forward. He’d hated being trapped, but it’s worse not to be touched. He puts a hand on Sokka’s shoulder, another on his waist. “It’s just been a long day. I was—” what’s the word Sokka used? “—overreacting.”

Sokka’s rubbing his hand over his face, breathing coming fast. Zuko doesn’t know what Sokka’s feeling or thinking, and he’s not _saying_ anything, shoulders tense under Zuko’s hand. 

“This isn’t right,” Sokka says quietly, hand on Zuko’s where it’s pressed against his hip. Zuko’s heart skips, painful, and Sokka presses it in instead of pulling it off. 

_Fuck._

Oh. Oh, okay, he can— he can—

“No, it’s good,” Zuko soothes, stepping closer. He puts his face into the crook of Sokka’s neck. “It’s fine, it’s just been a long day. We’re fine.”

“I’m sorry,” Sokka says, folding over him, arms wrapping around his back to pull him into a hug. 

“No, _I’m_ sorry,” Zuko says, and lets himself cling properly. It’s— it’s making more sense now. They’ll have sex. And he’ll forget that Sokka ever said those things, and he’ll tell himself Sokka didn’t mean them that way, and he’ll even believe it.

“I’ll talk to you next time,” Sokka says helplessly, shoving his face into Zuko’s hair. 

“No, you don’t have to,” Zuko says automatically. “I should be better for you.”

Sokka stiffens again, all of the tension snapping back into place. He pulls back slowly, and Zuko can see that his eyes are wet. Why? Why would Sokka be crying? 

Zuko doesn’t stiffen. He goes limp, moveable, not sure what Sokka wants from him.

“Why are you saying that? I don’t want-- I want you to-- I love you, Zuko, I don’t understand--” 

“I love you too,” Zuko says. “I just— want to do what you want.”

They were so close. It was going to be okay, Zuko’d fixed it, but now Sokka’s pulling away from him, something sick in his expression. 

“What— what do you want me to do?” Zuko asks. He makes eye contact, because Sokka likes that, even though it makes him want to crawl out of his own skin and straight up to the roof, the roof where he was supposed to be smoking right now, letting the day blow away in the evening breeze.

“I want you to talk to me,” Sokka says immediately. “You’re acting like you’re scared of me. I’ve been ignoring it, but Zuko, you gotta tell me why.” 

Zuko tries to laugh it off. “Isn’t— you know, feelings are scary?”

Sokka’s eyes dart around, and he’s thinking again. “So-- were my dad and Bato too much too fast? I wasn’t trying to, you know. I just-- wanted you to be there.” 

“No!” Zuko says, and he moves then. He feels something clawing and sick in his chest, the terror that he’s going to be punished by losing the ground he’s gained with Sokka. “No, I wanted to meet them. I meant— love— isn’t love scary? Usually?” 

Sokka scrubs his hands over his face again. Good. The fight’s almost over. Zuko doesn’t know how much longer he can stay on the edge of a blade without knowing which direction it’s going to slice. 

“I mean, yeah? Abstractly? What are we even talking about?” Sokka says through his hands. 

“I… don’t know?” Zuko says. He takes a very small risk, steps forward, presses his hands into Sokka’s back pockets. “We could be done talking.”

Sokka stills again. Zuko holds his breath.

Sokka’s lips find Zuko’s jaw, soft and insistent, and Zuko sighs, melting into it. _He did it. It’s over._

“Okay,” Sokka breathes, hands leaving his face to cup Zuko’s neck on either side. “Yeah?” 

Zuko stills. 

_“Yeah,”_ he rasps, fingers digging into Sokka’s ass through his slacks. They’ve done some stuff, but Sokka— hadn’t expressed an _interest_ , exactly.

He doesn’t even care if this is a punishment. This is the _best_ punishment.

Sokka searches Zuko’s gaze, confused even though Zuko’d just explicitly said yes, Agni why is he _like this._

“You don’t have to,” he forces himself to say. It’s reluctant.

Sokka’s thumb brushes over Zuko’s adam’s apple, and Zuko makes a noise that makes Sokka’s pupils go wide.

“Oh,” Sokka says, dumbly. His smile is vulnerable, and he asks again, “yeah?” 

“Mmhm,” Zuko hums, rolling his eyes. He can feel his heart in his throat, wonders if Sokka can feel it against his skin, or if his own heartbeat hides it.

***

Zuko loses some of the terrifying passivity when Sokka accidentally squeezes his neck. He didn’t mean anything by it, but instead of fear or anger Zuko rolls his eyes at him.

Good. Let him be a brat; anything is better than the paper man he’d been through the latter half of their argument. 

“Let’s try,” Sokka says, sliding his thumbs to tuck underneath the curve of Zuko’s chin, forcing it up. He can feel Zuko’s heartbeat against his palms. He feels the way Zuko swallows. 

“Thin walls,” Zuko says with what is clearly his last brain cell. His eyelashes are fluttering, like he’s having trouble keeping his eyes open and focused.

The last thing Sokka wants is a reminder of his dad and Bato one floor below them while he and Zuko are experimenting with their sex lives. 

“Then you’ll have to be quiet, won’t you?” he asks. It’s a little bit more of a plea. _Please,_ please _, be quiet._

Zuko whines and tries to nod his head. He’s hard against Sokka’s thigh, even through his slacks, and Sokka’s mouth goes dry. They’re both stressed and tired and in desperate need of an outlet and by the spirits, sex is one thing that they _usually_ get right. 

“I can,” Zuko says.

“I know,” Sokka promises, kissing Zuko’s lips. He starts to walk them back towards the bedroom, and it’s more difficult than he thought it would be not to accidentally squeeze too hard or trip. 

Zuko’s hands move from his pockets to the back of his shirt, fisting in the material, dragging it out of his pants in order to scrunch up more of it. 

They make it, and Sokka’s gentle as he lays Zuko down on the mattress, crawling over him. 

“Y’know, if you let me set up the bedframe,” Zuko says, “You could fuck me standing up, instead of writhing awkwardly to get at the lube.”

Good. That’s Zuko, cheeky and obsessed with home improvement.

“If I gagged you, I could fuck you without the commentary,” Sokka teases, working at their belts with one hand, the other still around Zuko’s neck. 

Zuko grabs his shoulder and yanks him into a kiss that’s mostly whimpering. 

“You should,” Zuko manages to get out. “You should. Do that.”

Sokka made the comment, Zuko said to do it. “Is this because I want it,” Sokka starts, leaning up on his elbow and loosening his hold on Zuko’s neck. 

“I changed my mind, we should gag you,” Zuko says. He looks pissed, the way he gets when he wants something quick and Sokka’s dragging it out.

The grin is mostly relief, and Sokka gives into impulse and hooks two fingers over Zuko’s bottom teeth. “What was that?” he asks, shaking Zuko’s jaw a little. 

Zuko’s eyes quit focusing, and he doesn’t answer, clearly somewhere else. Sokka stops, concerned.

Ah. Pissed Zuko again.

Sokka grins again. 

“You’re tired,” he says, pulling his fingers from between Zuko’s lips. His tongue chases Sokka’s fingers and Sokka pinches it. 

Zuko’s face goes fuzzy and distant again. Sokka lets him go. Zuko retrieves his tongue, and is right back to grumpy.

“Tired of your bullshit,” Zuko grumbles. 

He’s managed their belts and buttons while distracting Zuko, which is pretty damn impressive. Sokka should get an award or something. Best at weird Zuko sex award.

“You love me,” Sokka says, and leans back to grab Zuko’s pants and yank them off. 

“You love _me,”_ Zuko says, almost a challenge, lifting his hips to help.

“I do!” Sokka agrees, and Zuko’s laugh is a little surprised and a lot happy. Then he lifts Zuko’s legs over his shoulders, eyes on Zuko’s dick, and the laugh stops.

“No,” Zuko whines, wiggling away and pushing at Sokka’s head. Zuko doesn’t say ‘no’ often, so Sokka stills, glancing at him curiously. 

“No?”

“Fuck me,” Zuko says, impetuously, and Sokka lets out his breath.

“Foreplay is the best part of sex,” Sokka says.

Zuko’s heels kick out as Sokka wraps his mouth around his erection, and he hisses, “sex is the best part of sex!”

Sokka hums around Zuko’s cock, like he’s having a conversation, inflecting and waving one of his hands around. His eyebrows go up and down and he tastes salt. 

“Sokka,” Zuko says, and his voice gets urgent, cracking. “Sokka, please, I’m not gonna—” 

Good. They’re tired. It’s been a _long_ day.

Sokka thumbs at Zuko’s nipple to distract him, and when his spine arches he leans up, wrapping his hand around Zuko’s neck and squeezing as hard as he feels safe doing. 

Zuko _screams._

It’s slightly strangled, but it’s not that strangled, and Sokka pulls off just in time to not choke. He’s laughing without really meaning to, slapping his hands over Zuko’s face to cover his mouth. Zuko’s already stopped though, nothing but a high whine on the exhales.

“Oh my gods, oh my gods, _thin walls,”_ he giggles. 

There’s a thumping on the floor, like a broom handle. Sokka collapses onto Zuko, still laughing. His erection is _gone_ but this is worth it.

Zuko’s gasping for breath, body shivering beneath him, hand weakly slapping at his back. 

“Sorry,” Sokka says, and pulls his hands away from Zuko’s mouth, letting him breathe freely. He kisses at Zuko’s face, his chin, his cheeks, his nose, his eyelid.

“I’m never going to be able to look at them again,” Zuko rasps, hand snaking between his legs. 

“I’ll blindfold you,” Sokka snickers, arching away from Zuko’s hand. “Uh— wait, no, I’m good.” 

Zuko’s hand stops. 

“Did you?” he asks, voice small. He’s not finding as much humor in the situation as Sokka is. Maybe when Sokka meets Zuko’s family they can fuck loudly at their house, to even the playing field. 

“I’m good,” Sokka says again, still kissing Zuko’s everywhere. 

“So you didn’t,” Zuko says. He pushes at Sokka, struggling to sit up.

Sokka gives him room. “It’s fine, Zuko,” he says, a bit exasperated. “It’s just— mood’s gone now.”

Zuko’s face doesn’t exactly _crumple._ It… flattens? Smooths. Something, and it’s different than before without moving much at all.

“Because I was loud,” he says. He’s very quiet, like he can make up for it now.

Sokka’s stomach drops. 

“No,” he says, just as quietly. “Because my dad and Bato hitting the floor with a broom was fucking hilarious. Does it matter?” 

“It matters if it’s my fault,” Zuko says. He doesn’t look at Sokka, pulling at a thread on the blanket. 

Sokka hates this. He hates this, he _hates this_ , and he hates whoever put this face on Zuko, whoever made him like this. 

“I liked it,” he says sharply. “Okay? I enjoyed myself. Nothing was ruined, you didn’t do anything.” 

“But I—” Zuko presses his lips thin. “Okay.”

“No,” Sokka says, voice rising. Zuko’s shoulders come to his ears and he’s reminded, again, that there are people just below them who he desperately doesn’t want to know what is going on.

“No,” he says, quieter, taking Zuko’s hands where they’re picking at the blanket. “You’re going to tell me why this bothers you.” 

Zuko’s hand goes soft in his, pliant. “...I just want to do what you want me to,” he says. “And you told me to be quiet.”

“I need you to tell me why,” Sokka pleads, confused and frustrated. “It’s not-- it’s just sex, it’s not important. Who cares that you were loud?” 

“And I can’t even do _that_ right,” Zuko says. He doesn’t snap it, he’s not angry. His voice is calm, apologetic. “It’s not important, and I can’t even get that right.”

Sokka feels like he’s in a lifeboat and he can’t get Zuko to take his hand. He’s right there, and the waves are crashing, and Zuko keeps shaking his head and looking away, and his fingers keep slipping through his. 

Or maybe it’s the other way around. Maybe Zuko’s the one on the boat, refusing to take Sokka’s hand as the water fills his mouth and lungs. 

“There’s nothing to get right.” Sokka tells him. “Not with me. Maybe with someone else?” 

Zuko’s fingers twist into his, suddenly gripping tightly. “I don’t want anyone else,” he says, eyes wide. “What— you said it wasn’t _important—”_

It’s like whiplash, conversations with Zuko, and Sokka brings his hands to Zuko’s face to wipe away the sudden tears. “No, hush, that’s not what I meant,” he says desperately, pulling him closer. 

“I don’t _know_ what you mean,” Zuko says, and his voice is honestly frustrated for the first time since earlier.

“Did someone else make you feel like you can’t make mistakes?” Sokka finally asks. 

“No,” Zuko says, and snorts wetly. “I can _definitely_ make mistakes.”

“Ugh!” Sokka says, glad to have some of Zuko’s pedantics back. It’s a light through the bleakness of this nonsense. “I meant, someone who made you feel like it’s not allowed?” 

“Why would anyone be _allowed_ to make mistakes?” Zuko asks. “They’re wrong. You don’t want them. That’s why they’re mistakes.”

La and Tui, but the man is serious. He’s genuinely repulsed at the idea, nostrils flared and lips turned down. 

“Mistakes are the best!” Sokka says, flabbergasted. “I mean, we’re all human? Mistakes are what show us we’re connected. And they’re usually funny,” he adds. 

“Mistakes are _failures,_ ” Zuko spits, disgusted. He touches his face. “Mistakes make you _monstrous_ and there’s _nothing_ funny about them.”

That’s significant. Sokka swallows his words in the face of it, gently touching the knuckles of Zuko’s hand where it’s touching his scar. 

There are so many things that he wants to say, but there’s a risk to all of them. If he tells Zuko he’s beautiful, Zuko could get mad and think he’s pandering. If he asks for more information, Zuko could close up. Sokka desperately wants to touch the scar, but he knows he never will, that it would never be appropriate and it’s painful for Zuko besides.

He doesn’t know what to say.

“I love you,” is all that he can manage. It’s the safest response, in the face of that much venom. 

Zuko’s face softens. He drops his hand, puts it over Sokka’s. “I… yeah. Same. It’s— I don’t want to explain. I’ll… I’ll try to…”

He looks at Sokka, silently asking him what he’s supposed to try to do.

“I just want you to be happy,” Sokka admits, voice cracking. For the first time he genuinely wonders if it’s something he’s capable of doing for him. 

“I’m never happy,” Zuko says, laughing a little. It’s an old joke. “Can’t you pick something easier? Or, you know, possible?”

“I want you to make me toast and juice in the morning,” Sokka decides, smiling, grateful for the cover Zuko gave him to wrangle his own stupid emotions. 

Zuko’s smile falls, and he puts his hands over his face, rolling onto his side in the fetal position, groaning. 

“We’re having _breakfast with them.”_

Sokka spoons him to better poke at his side with his finger. “Yeah we are. This is gonna be hilarious.” 

There’s a beat, Zuko pulling pillows and blankets over them in a nest.

“I’m going to die,” he says. 

“Of fun!” Sokka says.

Zuko doesn’t respond, groaning into the pillow. He does push back against Sokka’s chest, and Sokka hooks his chin over Zuko’s shoulder to breathe in his face. His knees tuck up behind Zuko’s, his arm draped over his side.

They’re going to be fine. It’s going to be fine. Relationships are work; Katara loves telling him that. And Sokka’s a hard worker. 


	2. Chapter 2

Zuko rises with the sun and heads into the kitchen. He tears through the cupboards and the ice box, trying to piece together what little knowledge he has of Southern Water Tribe cuisine and preferences. 

If Sokka had told him that they would be serving his parents then Zuko would have gone to the market. He would have _planned ahead_. But nooo. Sokka doesn’t plan ahead. Or tell him things. 

He has a bag of oranges. He can… juice them, probably? Sokka likes juice. He calls it a _luxury._

Zuko rolls up his sleeves, ties on his apron, and gets to work.

***

Sokka rises with the smell of meat cooking. He grunts and snorts and rubs his face with his palms. Zuko’s gone, which must be the source of the smell. Yeah. Sokka’s great at thinking and stuff. 

He stumbles out into the living area, eyes closed, all sense memory as he collides into Zuko’s side. 

“Morning, kidd _oh no,”_ his dad says. 

Sokka squints at him. Hm. His dad and Bato are sitting at the little bar that separates the kitchen from the living area. They already have plates in front of them, piled with food. 

“You want me to die,” Sokka decides, turning to where Zuko’s staring up at him in horror. He leans more firmly against Zuko’s side to reach for the bacon where it’s hopping around the pan. “You were going to let me starve to death. I see your wicked ways now, Zuko.” 

The pan bursts into flame as Zuko lets out a ragged breath, and as the grease splatters outwards, Sokka realizes that he forgot to put on clothes.

Well, that’s embarrassing. 

He waits for the fire to dissipate and reaches into the pan again, hissing and tossing the bacon between his palms. “Ow! Ow! Why must you hurt me when I love you so much?” 

“Excuse me,” Zuko says, taking off his apron. He lifts the collar over Sokka’s head, turns on his heel, and walks into the bedroom. The door clicks shut behind him, a quiet, controlled motion. There’s a pause, in which they all stare at each other and at the door. Then there’s the sound of muffled screaming.

The apron hangs loosely over Sokka’s front, splattered with grease. It’s one of Sokka’s work aprons, with the little wolf and moon on it. Sokka pops the bacon into his mouth and munches. 

The door clicks quietly open. Zuko is red faced, hair mussed in the front. He throws a pair of pants at Sokka’s stomach. They fall to the floor and Sokka makes no effort to pick them up. 

“Awh, c’mon Zuko,” Sokka says around his mouthful. “It’s not like they haven’t seen me naked before.” 

“Never a bad time to never see you naked again,” Bato says. 

Sokka puts his hands on his hips. “You’re just jealous that I’m younger and fitter than you.” He flexes an arm to demonstrate, and also to torment Zuko some more. Honestly, if Zuko’s reactions weren’t so entertaining Sokka might have actually been embarrassed by his faux pas. 

Zuko walks carefully around Sokka, not touching him or even looking at him. His right eye is steadily twitching, though. 

“Food,” he says, monotone, and dumps the pan out onto a plate. 

“You look amazing,” Sokka tells the plate. He takes pity on Zuko and steps into his pants, leaning in to kiss his cheek good morning. 

Zuko flinches away from him, and then darts a frantic glance at his dad and Bato. He stills, and leans forward instead.

Ah. Zuko’s face must hurt. Sokka frowns at him, recognizing the tightness in his eyes and the set of his jaw. “Have you had any tea?” Sokka asks carefully. 

Zuko grimaces a little, but only a very little, the way he does when he’s trying not to move his face. He shakes his head, and heads for the cupboard.

“Sorry, I’m— fucking stupid, forgot—” he mutters.

“I’ll make you some tea,” Sokka says, and Zuko’s eyes widen, his hands reaching up to stop Sokka’s and then immediately pulling away. He shoots another little look at Bato and his dad.

“No, I can do it, I’m the one—” 

“Go sit down,” Sokka says, exasperated, and pushes his fluttering hands away. Zuko’s probably been up for hours, and the weather’s bad on top of it. Typically he’d spend a day like this in bed, drugged out of his mind to manage through the pain. The least Sokka can do is make him his damned tea. 

Zuko’s shoulders cave forward, and he slumps into a chair. When he sees Sokka looking at him, his spine straightens like someone had pulled on his strings.

Idiot. Sokka can _see_ that he’s hurting, it’s not a secret. 

He also takes over the cooking, tossing more things into pans and dropping Zuko’s Fire Flower leaves into a pot instead of a cup. He passes the pot to Zuko silently, tapping the side for Zuko to heat. 

“So, Zuko,” dad starts. It’s followed by a long pause, while he takes another bite and chews it. Zuko doesn’t touch his tea, too busy staring wide eyed and focused on Sokka’s dad. “What do you do for a living?”

Zuko’s entire face collapses into a question mark. He’s clearly never been asked this very standard question before. He looks at Sokka for help.

“Bugs me,” Sokka says with a grin, and pushes a plate at Zuko. There’s only a single egg on it and some plain white rice; Zuko doesn’t eat when he’s in pain, and if Sokka can get him to eat this much it’ll be a victory. 

Bato makes a face at the plate, looking between it and theirs. 

“I was talking to Zuko,” his dad says carefully, and Sokka rolls his eyes and gestures to Zuko, _well, go on._

“I—” Zuko says, continuing to stare at Sokka pleadingly. 

“Zuko?” Bato asks, getting his attention. Zuko’s stare whips to him, and now it’s just panicked.

“I. I. Have money,” Zuko says. 

Sokka bursts out laughing, and it’s so loud and unexpected that Zuko cowers. Sokka can’t see his face, but he bets he’s getting glared at. 

“You can’t just tell people that,” Sokka laughs, turning off the burners. “That’s how you get robbed.” 

“Sorry,” Zuko mumbles.

Sokka stills, dread settling in his gut. 

Zuko did warn him that today was going to be difficult. He’d just hoped that whatever happened last night was going to stay there. And his dad is here with Bato, watching them, making it worse. 

“‘m a fighter,” Zuko tells his tea, finally starting to heat it. The water bubbles, leaves floating to the top and back down as the water swirls and boils. “I fight people. Consensually. Consensual...fights...” 

“C’mere,” Sokka says, nodding towards the bedroom. He tries his best to sound casual, but it comes out clipped from how tense he is. “I need help with my hair.” 

Zuko’s tea nearly bubbles over, frothing, too hot, before he lets go of it with shaking hands and heads into the other room. He steps carefully, like he doesn’t know if where his feet land will be safe.

Sokka shuts the door behind them and turns to Zuko. He crosses his arms and then realizes how that looks and uncrosses them, shoving his hands in his pockets instead. “What’s going on? You’re freaking out.” 

Zuko waves vaguely around the entire room and then says, “No.”

 _Don’t get irritated. Don’t do it. Zuko’s not trying to rile you up_ , Sokka thinks. 

Zuko sees the lack of comprehension, and if anything, _he_ seems to get frustrated. He waves more insistently, hands flapping at the wrists. 

“What does that even mean?” Sokka asks. 

“BAD!” Zuko yells, and then goes pale, covering his mouth. 

The gentle murmuring from the other side of the door stops. They wait, and when it starts up again Sokka turns back to Zuko. 

“This is really weird, Zuko. Do you need to -- I don’t know, take a break? Climb through the window and go to you Uncle’s?” Sokka’s at a loss for what to do here. He’d been so fucking excited for his dad and Bato to meet Zuko, but now Zuko’s acting insane and Sokka doesn’t know how to salvage it. 

“I— I—” Zuko says, and then starts jumping up and down, shaking his hands again. He does so at a pace that looks like it _hurts_ for about thirty seconds, and then stops, looking much calmer. “I am having a _bad day.”_

“Oh spirits, _okay._ ” Sokka says, relieved. He can work with that. “Yeah, that totally tracks, the weather is shit. What do you wanna do?” 

“Talking,” and Zuko just points at his face and then shakes his head, drawing an X over the air in front of his mouth.

Of course. Sokka’s been Zuko’s friend for years. His bad days pre-date the face scar, something to do with his hyperactivity and fire bending, Toph had tried explaining it to him once in the most infuriating way possible. 

It had just been— so long since he’s seen Zuko have _that_ kind of bad day. And he didn’t see most of the worst ones, back then, when they still got on each other’s nerves. 

“Great timing,” he mutters, and rubs his eyes. 

Zuko shoves past him and out the bedroom door. 

“Wait,” Sokka calls, bounding after him, “I wasn’t trying-- I didn’t mean it.” He reaches for Zuko’s arm and Zuko flinches again, eyes darting to where his dad and Bato are clearly watching them. He steps closer to Sokka’s side and puts on the most creepy, forced smile Sokka’s ever seen.

“Ew, your face,” Sokka says out loud. 

Zuko looks like he might cry, and stomps over to his teacup, downing it.

“Zuko,” Sokka sighs, because he’s making everything worse and he’s about to have his own anxiety attack. He comes up behind him and says quietly, “take it to the bedroom, okay? You’re being stubborn for no reason.”

Zuko sets the cup down with a rattle that conveys _if that’s how you REALLY feel, FINE I’ll LEAVE,_ and picks up his plate, heading to the bedroom. He closes the door behind him, a little harder than before, but nowhere near a slam. He probably has a headache. 

Sokka wants to explain. He turns to his dad and Bato, mouth open, but there’s nothing to say. Nothing without Zuko’s permission, and Sokka doesn’t even have most of the answers anyways. 

“Do you want to tell us….” his dad starts, and then just leaves the sentence dangling, open ended. 

Sokka sits in front of them and puts his head in his hands. “He’s not normally like this, I promise.” Except for how lately, he is.

“Like what? Scared of you?” Bato asks, blunt as always. Sokka’s shoulders hunch because that pretty much hit the nail on the head, and he slumps even further down.

They wait. Sokka finally answers, quiet, “I don’t want to talk about it.”

“Did Zuko work last night?” his dad asks. “He said he was a fighter, but we got back… pretty late… and he was up early…”

“What? No, he was here,” Sokka says. “He’s just having a bad day, why do you think he was out last night?” 

“Because _someone_ strangled him,” Bato says.

Sokka freezes, eyes wide, and thinks back to what Zuko was wearing when he left the room this morning. Just his house robe over a tanktop, his hair up in a messy bun so that it wouldn’t get in the food. He hadn’t even stopped to look in the mirror, not that he usually does.

But Sokka had looked at him, half awake, and thought, _wow, always forget he bruises so easy._

His dad straightens his back, jaw set angrily. “Sokka. I can’t--”

“We raised you better than this,” Bato cuts in, standing and pushing his plate away. 

“It was a _sex thing,”_ Sokka says, mortified and offended. How could they think this about him? Except— he can see how they do, he’s wondered it about himself lately, Zuko’s fear making everything confusing and strange.

“Not the-- not Zuko acting weird! That’s just him, sometimes. A lot lately.” Sokka’s getting distracted. “The bruises! That’s a. Sex. Thing.” 

“Why don’t we see what Zuko has to say about it?” his dad asks, all pleasant menace.

“He can’t,” Sokka says, and knows what it sounds like. “Aaagh! I mean, he’s having a bad day, he can’t talk anymore.” Bato does the eyebrow thing at him and Sokka pulls at his hair where it never did get put up. “I swear! Why am I trying to defend myself, you just said that you didn’t raise me like that!”

His dad frowns. “You have to understand how that sounds, Sokka, even to us.” 

“You’ve been away from home for a while. You… clearly don’t prioritize our values,” Bato says. 

Oh, so _that’s_ what this is about.

“Your values,” Sokka huffs, shoving away from the table. 

“You kissed him in front of everyone,” Bato points out. “What else have you—” 

“None of your business! I’m not-- we’re not engaged, so what’s it matter to you? He owes nothing to the tribe, nothing to the balance.” Sokka snaps.

“You _live_ with him,” his dad says. “You’re building a life with him. You’re going to tell me you let fire flakes in your cabinet for someone who doesn’t mean anything to you? Let him put up red curtains?”

“He means everything to me!” Sokka explodes, and his dad and Bato share a look that sets Sokka’s teeth on edge. He takes a deep breath and forces himself to calm down.

“Sorry,” he says at a more respectful level. “But it’s none of your concern who I make my life with anymore.” 

“Sure,” Bato says. “None of _ours_. You’re a grown warrior. Just the tribe’s.”

“The tribe doesn’t want me,” Sokka says, pushing past the pain admitting it causes, the sharpness between his ribs. This is an old fight, one he thought he’d left behind when he made a home in Republic City.

“The tribe doesn’t have anyone else,” his dad says. “Your sister—”

“What? What about Katara?” Sokka says. “Are they getting sick of making allowances for her? Never thought I’d see the day!”

“She doesn’t want to inherit,” his dad says, bluntly.

Katara didn’t tell him. Obviously she talked to _them_ , and Sokka feels the betrayal fester at him.

“Boo fuckin’ hoo,” he mutters, and his dad smacks the table angrily. Sokka only jumps a little, looking away defiantly. “What? You want me to inherit?”

“Despite everything I’ve seen this morning, shockingly, yes,” his dad says. 

Sokka glares at him, eyes wet. “And if I wanted to marry someone outside of the tribe?” 

“You know that’s not an option, Sokka,” Bato says.

“IT WAS FOR KATARA!” Sokka yells. 

“He’s the Avatar,” Bato replies, calmer the more upset Sokka gets.

Sokka bites his lip angrily. He feels like a child again, like he’s fifteen and has just been caught with another boy for the first time. Obviously the tribe doesn’t care about _that,_ look at his dad and Bato! But only after he’s had a wife and a kid, only if he wasn’t the _son of the chief._ Bloodlines and responsibilities and bullshit.

“You would have been okay with Toph,” Sokka adds, because they’d made that compromise out of desperation for an heir. 

“Is Zuko Toph?” Bato asks.

“This isn’t— it’s not _about—_ Zuko,” Sokka sputters. “We’re not engaged—”

“But he’s everything to you,” his dad says.

“Not— it’s— this isn’t relevant!”

“You’re right, it’s not,” Bato says. “Because Zuko’s a man.” 

Sokka stares at them, hurt and betrayed and overwhelmed. He doesn’t have any more to say that can be said in front of them, bites his tongue on the curses out of respect even now. His dad looks at him with something close to sympathy and reaches for his shoulder. 

“We’re not asking anything of you that we haven’t had to ask of ourselves,” he says, rubbing with his thumb. “I know how hard it is, Sokka. But we have a _duty.”_

“You always had Bato,” Sokka mutters. He knows he’s lost the argument.

“And your mother died,” his dad says gently. “I never want you to have to live through something like that.” 

“I want to talk to Katara,” Sokka says, dodging that iceberg with the ease of long practice. “She can’t just— she didn’t even _tell_ me.” In a way, she agreed to inherit _for_ him, to free him from the awful cycle he was in with the tribe.

Sokka tried. He tried so hard to make it work with women, even after they allowed him to try and find a wife outside of the tribe. And he loved everyone that he was with, he’s sure of it. 

But it never lasted. They were never happy, not like he is with Zuko. And Katara knew that, even before it was Zuko. She could see how it was destroying his relationship with their dad and Bato, and she’d always wanted to prove herself to them besides. 

It was the perfect solution. 

He doesn’t know when it stopped being perfect. 

“Don’t fight with your sister while she’s pregnant,” Bato says, overprotective as usual. 

“Oh, so she timed this,” Sokka says, rolling his eyes. His dad laughs, and gently cuffs him in the side of his head, transitioning smoothly into a noogie. “Hey! Dad!”

Sokka forces the laughter, and then it’s not so forced, until the three of them are knocking plates and tumbling to the ground. Sokka gets Bato in a headlock that his dad won’t rescue him from, and they collapse into a tentatively okay heap of giggles. 

“We still want to talk to Zuko,” his dad says to him. There’s less judgement now, though, just curiosity. 

“He’s having a bad day,” Sokka says again. “He’s probably already jumped out the window.” 

“What?” Bato says, and jumps to his feet. 

“Oh— not like—”

Bato pulls open the bedroom door. The window _is_ open, red and blue curtains drifting in the soft summer breeze. 

“--that,” Sokka finishes, dragging himself after Bato. There’s the plate on the nightstand. Half an egg white gone and maybe a little bit of rice, but the rest is still there. “He likes to climb things. You get used to it.” 

***

Zuko had sat with his back to the door, listening to the conversation outside. It was painful to listen to, them asking questions about his— embarrassingly obvious behavior, the flinching, the _fear._ Sokka saying _he’s not normally like this._

And then Bato had asked about— strangling— and Zuko had rushed to the vanity. Where he saw that his neck was dotted with light bruising. 

He dropped his plate on the nightstand, and was wrenching the window open even as Sokka went _SEX THING,_ a murmur of incredulous and angry voices that faded as soon as he was outside.

***

Sokka waits until the afternoon to head over to the Jasmine Dragon. His dad and Bato are visiting with Katara. Sokka’s not going with them-- like hell he’ll let them be an audience to another one of his fights. 

They probably want to grill her on normal Zuko behavior, anyways. Good luck with _that._

“He’s upstairs,” Iroh says when Sokka enters. He bows his head to Iroh shallowly and climbs the steps, knocking on the door gently. The wood is worn and pale around the handle, years of use even before Iroh bought the building. 

Zuuko doesn’t answer, but the knocking is more to keep him from freaking out when he hears the door open than anything else. Sokka tries the handle.

Unlocked. It’s as good as an invitation.

Sokka opens it, stepping inside. Zuko’s swooned dramatically over the couch, a damp cloth over his eyes, arms and legs flung elegantly outwards. Gods, but Sokka loves this ridiculous man. 

“You’re such a dork,” Sokka tells him, shutting the door behind him. “Should we purchase you a fainting couch, your highness?” 

“Seeeeex thiiiiiiiing,” Zuko slurs. Sokka walks closer, and he can see that the cloth isn’t just wet, it’s also the pale blue-green of water weed cream. 

Zuko can’t see it when Sokka shrugs. “What was I supposed to say?”

“You were trying to kill me,” Zuko says. “If you loved me you’d kill me _now.”_

It hits wrong, even with the fondness Sokka feels over Zuko’s dramatics. He kneels next to him and takes his hand where it’s hanging limply at his side and starts playing with his fingers. 

“I don’t want to hurt you anymore,” Sokka decides. He waits to see how Zuko takes the declaration. 

Zuko’s hand stiffens in his. “Have you been hurting me?” he asks, voice suddenly a lot more sober around the edges.

Sokka chews on his cheek in an effort to control his voice. At least Zuko can’t see the way his eyes are burning with unshed tears. “I didn’t think so. But now I’m not so sure.” 

Zuko pulls his hand away, lays it on his chest, fingers tightening into a fist. “You’re not _hurting_ me. You— I— I mean yes, technically, but not—” 

“Dad and Bato think that I beat you,” Sokka tells Zuko bluntly. His voice breaks and he clears his throat. 

Zuko pushes the cloth off his eyes. The pupils are large, but he’s deadly serious. “Would it help if I kicked your ass in front of them?”

It’s not what Sokka’s expecting and he laughs wetly. 

“I can kick your ass,” Zuko continues. “I can— I can kick their ass, I can kick anyone’s ass. I can kick my _own—”_

“You do! You kick your own ass all the time!” Sokka giggles, pressing his face against Zuko’s chest. “You’re your own worst enemy.” 

“That wasn’t hurting me,” Zuko says, running his hand over Sokka’s hair. There’s a pull of the ribbon holding it up, and then he’s re-gathering it, retying it more neatly than Sokka had managed behind his back. “That wasn’t— I’m sorry I’m acting like this. I don’t know how to… I don’t wanna talk about…”

“Then let’s not. Talking’s stupid anyways,” Sokka says, pushing his face into Zuko’s neck instead. 

“Yeah,” Zuko agrees, sounding enormously relieved. He puts one hand down the loose collar of Sokka’s shirt, rubbing circles on his back. “Your… you have good skin.”

“Shhh. No talkie,” Sokka mutters, and bites at Zuko’s neck gently. 

Zuko clearly loses his train of thought, nails digging into Sokka’s apparently good back skin. 

And they don’t talk. 

***

“To rejuvenate you,” Iroh says drily as he passes them two cups. Sokka blushes and Zuko grins.

“Oh, so it’s fine when it’s _your_ Uncle,” Sokka mutters, and Zuko elbows him, and he elbows him back, and Iroh says, “boys,” in a warning tone, and they’re _fine._

They’re _good._


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> content warnings: something that COULD read as infidelity, and very rough (very enthusiastic!) sex. If you need more complete content warnings/summary please leave a comment and we'll answer to the best of our ability. :)

“So Mai and Ty Lee want to meet you,” Zuko says. He is attempting casual. He is failing.

Sokka wipes sweat off of his face with a rag and looks over his shoulder at Zuko. Mai and Ty Lee are currently speaking through the radio propped up on the shelf behind the prep station, the latest episode of _Republic City Housewives_ airing as a rerun.

 _“You— you harlot!”_ Ty Lee screeches.

 _“Me? You SLATTERN!”_ Mai shrieks.

It’s a pretty typical episode.

“Should I prepare to be slapped?” Sokka jokes, waving to a customer as they enter. It’s been a pretty busy day for him, enough that Zuko’s popped up to help him a few times.

“Why?” Zuko asks from where he’s lounging at his little table, eyes wide. “What are you planning to say to them?”

There’s an exaggerated slapping sound from the radio. Sokka raises an eyebrow at him and slides the sandwich he’s working on into a basket.

“Oh,” Zuko says. “That’s their characters. Did you even— mine was a confident, sauve heterosexual. The show is—” he waves a hand.

Sokka drops his spatula.

“Yours is _what now_?” he asks, turning his full attention onto him. Zuko hates when he does that.

“Clearly type cast,” Zuko says, as straight faced as he can manage.

Sokka points at him. “How could you have never told me that you were on the show. How have the girls never mentioned it?!”

“I dunno, maybe cuz I sound like,” Zuko takes a second to remember his voice, huskier than usual. “Hey baby. Nice pants. They’d look better on my floor.”

Sokka drops the spatula a second time, face heating. “Never do that in public again.” His voice is strained.

“Why? You _feel_ something for me, hot stuff?” Zuko growls.

“I will take you to the back room--” Sokka threatens.

“ _Ah_ hem,” the customer who just entered coughs, covering her mouth with her sleeve.

“Do you mind? We’re having a conversation,” Zuko tells her disapprovingly.

Sokka flings the spatula at him. Zuko dodges it, grinning proudly, and lets Sokka take care of his work responsibilities.

“Anyways, uh— I met your family, so,” Zuko says when the rush has calmed down. Not that it ever really calms down anymore: Sokka’s business has really taken off. The endorsement from Princess Yue wasn’t the _only_ thing that did it, but it didn’t _hurt._

Sokka’s silent for long enough that Zuko starts to get paranoid. Finally he rubs his hands on his pants and leans forward, unable to let the silence linger.

“You don’t have to meet them,” Zuko says. “I mean— you already met Uncle, so it’s not like it matters if you meet them—”

“Huh?” Sokka says absently, turning from where he’s washing the spatula. “Sorry, I was distracted thinking about that voice you were doing. When am I meeting your friends?”

“So you want to meet them,” Zuko confirms first.

“Yeeees,” Sokka says, dragging out the word. “Should I not? You’re being weird.”

“I’m always weird,” Zuko says in his straight-sona.

“Hng,” Sokka says, and points to the walk-in cooler. “You’re banished.”

Zuko laughs at him, and then swallows it for the smoky chuckle that his character Zukka Lily used.

“BANISHED,” Sokka yells.

“Thursday night,” Zuko says, and ducks out the back door.

“No, come back, I was joking,” Sokka calls after him, but the bell on top of the front door alerts him to a customer, preventing him from following.

“I’m in exile!” Zuko yells. “I have to restore my honor before I return!”

***

“Is my honor restored?” Zuko asks, making big eyes at Sokka. He’d done his makeup like he would for work, and combed his hair into a shining updo.

“Pretty,” Sokka says, reaching up to pull at a string of metal flowers hanging from Zuko’s bun. “Are you always this pretty? I can’t seem to remember.”

“Nah, this is special,” Zuko says, flushing. “Don’t start expecting it.”

Sokka sighs dramatically, hand on his chest. “I know my place,” he says, and turns around so that Zuko can fix his hair.

Zuko already knows that he’s going to dress up every day this week, at least. He’s stressed, and it gives him something to do. And Sokka is— very nicely appreciative.

“There,” Zuko says, finishing the ties. A few of the braids had come undone during Sokka’s week and he re-twists them, slipping the beads on the end and knotting them in place.

He smooths his hands over the broad area of Sokka’s back, enjoying the way the silky fabric flattens beneath his palms. He does it again, just because it feels nice and he can. The way the fabric swooshes outwards and the seams straighten is just— he does it again.

“Careful, pretty boy,” Sokka rumbles. Zuko can feel the way it vibrates against his palms and he presses more firmly to feel it better. “You’re gonna make us late.”

He pulls his hands back. They’re tingling, and he shakes them out a little.

“I’d just blame you anyways,” he says. He wants to kiss Sokka, but the lipstick isn’t work lipstick— it’s a more subtle shade and smears easier. There’s an extra in his pocket to touch it up at dinner.

“You’d be right to,” Sokka says, turning and settling his hands on Zuko’s waist. He thumbs at the suspenders, twanging them like harp strings, and sashays their hips.

“Come on, Mai’s gonna give me shit if you work me up,” Zuko whines, and wriggles away.

Sokka lets him go with a satisfied expression. Ah, fuck, he’s in one of _those_ moods. Mai’s gonna eat Zuko alive.

“Ughhhh _hhh,_ ” Zuko groans, and kicks the door open. Sokka wants to _show him off,_ and here Zuko is, dressed up to be shown off in front of people Sokka’s trying to impress.

Why did he _do this to himself._

Zuko has a sudden clarity to Sokka’s decision to wear his sleeveless tunic tonight.

“They’re not going to be impressed with your arms,” Zuko warns him, following Sokka down the stairs to the street.

“You’re the only one who needs to be impressed,” Sokka says, and flexes not so subtly as he opens the door to the outside.

“Spirits,” Zuko sighs. There’s still time. He can throw up, or throw himself in front of a car, and they won’t have to go to the dinner. Sokka slides in next to him and places his hand firmly on his thigh, proprietary.

They’re going to know how much Zuko likes him. They’re going to see that Sokka likes him _back._ How can that be so excruciating? Why is he sweating?

Zuko gets so caught up panicking that he doesn’t give himself time to brace for arrival, only warned when Sokka whistles appreciatively at the giant wrought iron gates. There’s a stylized volcano etched into the front plaque. The car slows and Sokka leans forward to pay, sharing an _eh? You see this_ sort of expression with the driver.

Zuko doesn’t really understand what there is to see. It’s big and gaudy and the most impressive thing is how many knives Mai managed to hide in the bushes surrounding it.

The driver pats Sokka’s arm fondly despite Zuko being sure they’ve never met before. How does Sokka do that? He’s still trying to figure it out as the car drives away, Sokka’s hand against the small of his back as they approach.

“Okay,” Zuko says, and rocks forward on his tiptoes and then back on the balls of his feet. “Okay, okay, okay, okay.”

“Okay?” Sokka asks, amused.

“Obviously,” Zuko snaps. Sokka rubs his thumb into Zuko’s spine soothingly, the asshole. The gates open. He doesn’t recognize the servant. Mai goes through— kind of a lot of them. It’s hard to find help that Azula hasn’t found first.

“Insignia,” the man says, hands clasped in front of himself. Seriously, Mai?

“I forgot it at home,” Zuko says flatly. “You know. The palace.”

The servant bows and Zuko thinks _that was easier than expected._

“Signet ring, then,” he says.

Zuko’s going to kill Mai, as soon as she’s done _murdering him._ “Signet _face._ Look at my— who else has this?” he points at the giant scar.

The servant cringes, but stays bowed.

“Hey,” Sokka says, “give the guy a break, he’s just doing his job, isn’t he?”

“You’re right,” Zuko says, and lets out a breath. He lets go of Sokka’s hand and cups his hands around his mouth. “MAI GET THE FUCK OUT HERE!”

Sokka steps up to the servant and clasps a comfortable hand on his shoulder. “Stand up, man, it’s all good. What’s your name?” He walks the servant away, closer to the gate than to Zuko.

“MAI I WILL BURN YOUR HOUSE DOWN,” Zuko yells. There’s a peal of laughter from inside, loud enough to be heard in the drive. _Ty Lee._

“TY!” he shouts.

“No, no, I get it,” Sokka’s saying to the servant, who’s clearly broken his professional mask and is confiding in him like they’re old friends. Seriously, how?

“LEMME IN OR THE FIRE LILIES GET IT,” Zuko says, a flame appearing above his fist and pointing in the direction of the gardens.

“Do you have your insignia?” Mai asks, materializing directly behind him. Zuko yelps, spinning. Mai reaches up with her sleeve to blot at the corner of his mouth where his lipstick has smeared. “Because you know that your father is working on mandatory identification in the upper rings. And that I’ve been _telling you—”_

“In front of Sokka, really?” Zuko demands, voice dropping to a furious whisper.

“If telling you in front of him is what it takes,” Mai replies, intentionally misdirecting.

Zuko’s jaw tightens, and he glares at her. “It’s really in the palace.”

There’s laughter from Sokka and the servant, and Sokka waves at them, arm around the guy’s shoulder. “Hey! Did you know it’s Li Wen’s daughter’s birthday today? Why’s he working?”

“You have to go home sometime,” Mai says, a harsh undertone, but as soon as Sokka comes closer her and Zuko turn as one to put on an eerily similar polite face.

“He didn’t ask for the day off,” Mai says. She looks at Li Wen. “Would you like the day off? You can tell the kitchen staff you have first pick of desserts.”

She’s such a fucking suck up. Zuko _hates_ her. He can feel the smugness radiating out of her.

Li Wen blinks at her, startled, and turns to look at Sokka, who nods at him encouragingly.

“Y-yes, mistress, I would be most honored.” He bows, and Sokka pulls his arm back and slips it around Zuko’s hip instead.

Zuko looks at Mai, a silent, _I see you._ She quirks a brow, _aren’t I supposed to impress him?_

“It’s nice to finally meet you,” Sokka says cheerfully. He doesn’t offer his hand, because he must have learned something from Zuko’s desperate lectures. He does offer her a half sign of the flame, casual and loose wristed and incredibly insulting.

“You as well,” Mai says, eye twitching. She makes the sign of the flame, hands elegant and well practiced and _pointed._

“Hey!” Ty Lee calls, sticking her head out the door. “Quit standing in the drive, the tea is going cold. Human heatpack—”

“That’s not my name!” Zuko says, and stomps towards the door.

“Yes it is,” Ty Lee tells him, skipping over to Sokka and holding out her hand. Sokka shakes it, surprised as she uses airbending to lift him off of his feet briefly during the upswing.

“You answer to it well enough,” Mai says. Traitor.

“Traitor,” Zuko sniffs. “This is treason. Disloyalty of the highest order. I could have you beheaded.”

“But you won’t,” Mai says, corner of her lips tweaking upwards.

“Sokkaaa,” Zuko whines.

Sokka does not have a poker face. It’s going to get them both destroyed, but right now he’s looking at Zuko, delighted and startled by his behavior. “Ty Lee’s Aang’s cousin,” Sokka says.

“The one who eats his boogers?” Mai asks, making a face.

“The Avatar,” Sokka says, not denying it.

“The— the one who—” Zuko starts, and then trails off, realizing he has _way too many stories_ and the one coming to mind is _has a smoking hot wife._

Mai leads them to the sitting room. It’s not the nicest one, but it’s not the one used for unexpected guests or those she wants to feel are imposing.

“You have a beautiful home,” Sokka says, trailing a careful finger against the dark wood of the tea table. Zuko remembers the overheard conversation between Sokka and his dads about Sokka’s perceived wealth and frowns, wondering what this all must look like to him.

And Zuko comes from even wealthier.

“Thank you,” Mai says graciously, tucking her feet underneath herself as she sits down. Ty Lee sits beside her, legs crossed, and Zuko automatically takes his spot opposite her.

That puts Sokka across from Mai, her equal, the head of household for the visiting party. It’s too late to change it, and Zuko’s not even sure if he would. Mai’s eyebrows raise just the slightest beneath the severe line of her bangs.

“So,” Sokka says, popping his lips and relaxing back against the couch. Nobody responds, all other eyes on Mai as she navigates the tea cart. Mai pours for Ty Lee first and then Zuko, same as ever and same joke as ever— an honorable husband pouring for an honored wife. When it comes time for Sokka she stills, glancing at Zuko. He shakes his head, slightly.

Then she sets the pot down.

Sokka reaches for it after a beat, also looking at Zuko.

Zuko looks at his cup, and spoons some more sugar into it. He wouldn’t usually, but he’s— stressed. This is stressful. He hadn’t thought about the tea language, the declarations inherent.

“You don’t like the way I fixed it,” Mai says, a statement rather than an inquiry. Sokka sips his and checks on Zuko, smiling around the rim of his small cup.

“He’s a sugar fiend, you know. I’m surprised he’s not adding honey to it.”

“Haaaaahhaaaa,” Zuko says, very clearly, and then tosses the tea back. Fuck. Fuck. He did _not_ need Sokka to out him on that.

Mai’s playful tease quickly turns irritated, and there’s even a flash of hurt before she busies herself setting treats on a plate for Ty Lee. “You never mentioned that you changed the way you take it.”

“I haven’t,” Zuko says, tightly. “Usually. When I’m here. It’s— I just like more sugar sometimes, now.”

“So you did change,” Ty Lee adds gently, patting Mai’s arm in comfort.

“I’m not very good at making it,” Sokka admits, contributing to the conversation on tea like the champ he is. Poor fool, doesn’t even know what they’re talking about. “We make it different at the poles. Stronger, and bitter.”

Mai makes a little noise that’s almost entirely covered by the clink of her cup against the table.

“Spirits,” Zuko says, and squeezes the bridge of his nose. “I’m nervous, Mai. Okay? That’s it.”

“I didn’t ask,” she responds, passing him his own plate of treats. Again, she looks at Sokka and then back to Zuko, waiting.

“I offered,” Zuko says, and then sets the plate vaguely in the middle of the table, leaning towards them. So Sokka can take some if he wants, but it doesn’t really— mean anything definite.

Nothing about them means anything definite.

“Nervous,” Mai says, flatly.

“You know,” Sokka says conversationally as Mai twists her cup in the way that means _water._ Classy. Grind it in that Sokka won’t commit to fire with him, thanks Mai, just what Zuko needed. “You’re nothing like your characters on the show. Zuko told me as much, but it’s super impressive to see how good you two are at acting.”

“Thanks!” Ty Lee says, carrying the conversation even as her eyes dart between Mai and Zuko’s hands. Of course she doesn’t say _We hate it and we only do it because of a complex hierarchy of expectations._ Zuko keeps his cup still, not denying but not confirming Mai’s inquiry. “Acting is kind of a new skill for us? Mai’s talents actually lie with knife throwing, and I’m a licensed aircrobat.”

“Zuko _did_ mention something about a circus,” Sokka says, tilting his head. “I thought it was just kid stuff but— hey, Zuko, what do you do? Juggle?”

“I’m a fire breather,” he says tightly, just as Mai deadpans, “clown.”

“Well, it’s a good thing I have those pictures,” Ty Lee says, delighted. “So that Sokka can see for himsel—”

“The paint is _traditional_ —”

“And the rainbow wig?”

“I’ll burn them, don’t you dare,” Zuko says.

“Ty Lee,” Mai says, taking a bite of a cookie, “sit down.” Ty Lee does, immediately, eyes big and hopeful as she looks to Mai for more instruction. Mai hands her the rest of her cookie, an incredibly overt sign of affection, especially in front of mixed company. Ty Lee nearly swoons.

“Gross,” Zuko mutters, leaning back, arms crossed.

“Why don’t we play cards?” Mai asks.

“Don’t read his future,” Zuko warns.

Sokka, of course, perks up. “You can read my--”

“No, she’s a hack,” Zuko interrupts, exasperated.

“I’ve met a lot of hacks,” Sokka agrees. “But this is your friend, so she’s probably a _really good_ one. Or a horrible one, since she’s, you know, your friend.”

Ty Lee laughs, delighted again, and leans forward. “You’re funny, and I like the color of your aura. Are you the oldest sibling?”

“Is this a duo act?” Sokka asks, setting down his cup next to Zuko’s close enough that they touch. Both he and Mai stare at it, but Sokka keeps his eyes on Ty Lee.

“We can be,” Ty Lee says, and wiggles her eyebrows. “Treat for a couple of close friends.”

Sokka turns to Zuko again, hand settling on his knee. “Should I be worried?” He’s clearly entertained, body loose and comfortable, always so good at making friends. “I feel like I should be worried.”

“I’ve got a naturally dominating presence,” Ty Lee says. Zuko snorts. “It’s normal.”

Sokka doesn’t turn back to them, waiting on some sort of response from Zuko. He may be enjoying himself, but he must notice how stressed Zuko is, his hand squeezing Zuko’s knee.

Zuko sighs. “Might as well do it _before_ we’re drunk,” he grumbles.

“That’s the spirit, princess!” Ty Lee says, and claps her hands. “Alright, I’ll go get the cards.” Sokka’s lips mimic her, _princess,_ and he visibly sets that aside. Oh, Agni. He should have never allowed this to happen.

“I’m sensing lots of tension,” Mai says to Zuko, cocking her head.

“Oh, are you?” Zuko asks, suppressing a smile.

“Mostly in your shoulders.” Mai nods. “Yes, definitely in the shoulders. And the— what’s that there—”

She leans forward, squinting at Zuko’s collar.

“What?” Zuko asks, looking down.

She flicks his nose.

Sokka laughs at him, loud and rude and adorable.

“I— you all _bully me,_ ” Zuko protests, but Sokka wraps his arm around his shoulders, and Mai’s not-smiling, and he finally starts to relax again.

“Sweetheart, you make it so easy,” Sokka tells him through giggles. Zuko’s mouth makes a tea kettle noise that he clamps shut, but the damage is done, Mai’s lips actually curling up at the corner.

“Yeah, sweetheart,” Mai murmurs, eyes dancing. “You really _do.”_

“Stooop,” Zuko groans, covering his face.

“Ooh? Stop what? What are we doing to Zuko?” Ty Lee asks, returning with cards in hand.

“Bullying him,” Sokka says, taking the deck Ty Lee hands him and laying them out familiarly. Ty Lee lays hers out to mirror his, clearly impressed.

“Y’know, you wouldn’t know it from how Katara talks about you, but you are a man of good taste, Sokka,” Ty Lee says.

“I do taste good,” Sokka agrees, flipping a few cards and pushing them at her.

“Do you?” Ty Lee purrs, eyes going heavy lidded and twirling a piece of hair behind her ear.

“Mai,” Zuko complains.

“Yes, princess?” Mai answers, hands in her sleeves as she examines the cards. She doesn’t usually call him that in casual conversation. It’s— it’s cheating, is what it is.

“Ugh,” Zuko says, and slouches.

“Sit up and stop whining,” Mai answers. She picks the middle most card up and turns it around, showing it to Ty Lee.

Zuko sits up straight, spine wrenching upwards on sheer reflex, lips snapping shut. Then he slouches twice as hard, except he can’t quite keep it up, fidgeting uncomfortably.

Sokka elbows him, eyebrows waggling, clearly pleased with the rapport he’s building with Ty Lee.

“Flirt,” Zuko calls him, and Sokka pouts at him, leaning in close while Ty Lee and Mai murmur to each other. “Awh, baby, you know I’ve only got eyes for you.”

“The cards say you need to start communicating with the people in your life more clearly,” Mai says, bluntly.

Between Sokka’s comment and Mai’s Zuko feels a pressure start to build in his sternum. He drinks some tea to try and help it pass, but it doesn’t, and all he ends up doing is draining his cup.

“You’re coming to some kind of crossroads…” Ty Lee says, frowning down at the cards. “It could go a lot of ways? Wow, that’s vague.”

“Sure, sure,” Sokka nods, clearly taking the piss out of them, smile behind his hand. “Tell me more.”

“Well, this card here is the Lovers,” Ty Lee says, pushing it forward. “But we also drew the Consort, so I don’t know what that’s about.”

“Who knows what anything’s about, really,” Mai says dryly.

Sokka snorts, and notices the way Zuko’s staring intently at his cup. He’s refilling it before Zuko or Mai have the chance to stop him, and the room goes silent and tense even as Ty Lee completely misses it.

“Lot of water tones, but that’s probably to be expected,” Ty Lee says cheerfully. “You’re a watery boy, Sokka. And then Death, but that’s not—”

Zuko covers his eyes. Sokka hadn’t poured his tea in any particular way, which is somehow worse.

“--a bad thing! Something’s going to end, soon, is all,” Ty Lee nods, and gathers the cards up.

“Neat,” Sokka says, passing his stack over. “I’m a water tribesman in a relationship and some vague aspect of my life is going to end. I sure hope it’s the lower back pain.”

“And you need to communicate more,” Mai says. “Probably to your doctor, based on that description.”

Sokka makes a face, elbowing Zuko’s side. “Not with the way my doctor is.”

Zuko’s staring at his cup.

Why— why did he think this would be a good idea? Sokka hasn’t read any of the books. Mai says _water_ and he can’t even contest it. Mai is practically bludgeoning them both over the head with _talk to each other_ and Sokka doesn’t know how to notice. And Zuko? Zuko’s too cowardly to act on it.

“Okay!” Ty Lee claps her hands together, the sound echoing around the room. “Mai hasn’t stabbed you, so let’s do some drugs!”

***

“They— they liked you,” Zuko reassures Sokka. They’re standing in the entryway, waiting for their cab.

“Yeah?” Sokka asks, nosing behind Zuko’s ear.

Mai clears her throat.

“Zuko?” she says. “Can I borrow you?”

It’s not like her to ask. She’s always made it excruciatingly clear that he belongs to her, and that’s the way that they both like it. He can’t even bring himself to answer, simply extracting himself from Sokka’s hands and following her silently.

She leads him into a small room, shuts the door behind them most of the way. It’s a coat closet, and the furs brush against his neck and back distractingly.

“Zuko, _what_ is he to you?” she demands, voice low.

“Is...he’s Sokka,” Zuko says. “Is now even the time, we’re about to--”

“Go home, to your _shared_ home,” Mai whispers. Her hand reaches out to grab his arm, and then stops. Pulls back. “You’re— you’re right. We’re high.”

Zuko squints at her, too tired to tease that apart. She looks more vulnerable than he’s used to seeing her since her grandparents passed, always stoic and resigned. He wraps an arm around her neck, kisses her forehead.

“You’re still Mai,” he says, blearily. “He’s just Sokka now, too.”

Mai licks her lips, ruining her lipstick. “Zuko,” she says slowly, tasting the name. “You haven’t told him.”

“Told him what?” Zuko asks. There’s a list of things he’s not telling Sokka, piles of secrets and hurts, old and new.

“That we’re engaged,” she says.

“I— yeah, I did,” Zuko says. “I told him you were my intended. He’s always known that.”

“He doesn’t know what that means,” Mai hisses, pulling away. She crosses her arms and looks away, eyes shimmering.

“I— what do you mean?” Zuko asks. There’s an overwhelming pressure in his chest, something crushing his lungs.

“It’s not just your life you’re playing with here, Zuko. It’s mine, and Ty Lee’s, too. She had to go through so much to earn her title as consort, this could--”

The door opens with a creak, light flooding in and blinding him. He sneezes, sleeve covering his nose.

“You doing seven minutes in heaven?” Sokka jokes, seeing the lipstick smeared on Mai’s forehead. There’s something sour about his tone, eyes lingering on Mai’s lips, her smeared makeup. “Because I think you missed, Zuko.”

Zuko stares at him silently.

Shit. _Shit._ He really doesn’t know, does he?

“We’re not done here,” Mai tells him severely, and does her best to leave the closet with as much dignity as possible. She only trips once, a dagger clanging as it bounces from her sleeve to the marbled flooring.

“Agni,” Zuko says, and squeezes his eyes closed. Then he forces them open, because he’d almost fallen over without sight to keep him steady. “Is the— is the cab here?”

“Cab’s here,” Sokka says, guarded and eyes hard.

“Fucking fantastic,” Zuko says.

***

Sokka’s not rough with him. Zuko desperately wants him to be, pushing against his hands, guiding his wrist to his neck.

His silent pleas go unheard. Sokka’s gentle with him, careful. He kisses him softly, and when his hands circle Zuko’s wrists it’s to pull them away from where they’re clawing, to thread their fingers together.

“Just _fuck me,”_ Zuko finally snaps.

Sokka stops. He leans back from where he’s arched over Zuko on the bed, half clothed, red wax smeared across his lips. There’s something unreadable in his expression.

“Is that what you want?” he asks, and Zuko could scream with frustration.

“I want you to wreck me,” he says, voice tense and angry. “Not— whatever _this_ is.”

The breath Sokka takes is sharp, and Zuko would worry about the angle of his mouth if he wasn’t immediately complying, hands on his wrists tightening enough to bruise. He slams them against the bed and they bounce back, so he does it a second time.

“Thank you,” Zuko breathes out, and it’s far too genuine, none of the bite from before. He rolls his lips between his teeth, breathes through his nose to try and maintain some semblance of calm.

Sokka doesn’t answer. He’s usually pretty talkative during sex, teasing and joking. Right now he’s focused, switching to grip Zuko’s wrists with one hand so that the other can yank his thigh up and press his knee against his chest.

A noise escapes him, mouth parting shocked and wet, eyes half closing. He feels fuzzy in the good way, limp in the not-scary way, spine liquid fire.

Another sharp breath from Sokka and the sound of his clothes falling to the floor. Zuko’s wrists start to really hurt as Sokka leans his weight into them for balance, settling between his thighs and leaning back.

Zuko forces his shoulders higher, trying to take some of the strain off the angle. It introduces it in new and interesting places, back arching.

Sokka’s breathing harshly. “Zuko,” he says, but nothing else is forthcoming. Zuko whines in response, testing Sokka’s grip. It holds, and he whines again, shivering.

There’s the sound of the slick jar, and no warning from Sokka before-- fuck, fuck, that’s two fingers, _yes._

 _“Yes,_ ” Zuko says out loud. He closes his eyes, twisting as much as he can— which isn’t much, he’ll pull something and Toph will throw a fit if his ‘slutty ways’ start interfering with work again, but he almost doesn’t care.

Sokka takes the encouragement, understanding him for once, they’re so good at this, they get each other _so well_. He points his fingers and pumps his hand, aiming at Zuko’s sweet spot, relentless and rapid.

“Please,” Zuko sobs out, starting to shake. “Please, please, don’t make me wait, please, _Sokka.”_

“No,” Sokka answers, and his voice is so wrecked and low that Zuko shudders with it. “You’re gonna wait, got it?”

Zuko’s not super clear on what he’s waiting for. He’d meant Sokka’s cock, probably, but there’s edges to Sokka’s voice, _implications._

He likes all of them.

Sokka doesn’t stop until Zuko’s openly sobbing, dragging his feet along the sheets and tugging helplessly at his grip. Sokka’d lost it a few times-- Zuko’s strong-- but immediately reprimanded Zuko for it, re-clasping his wrists and squeezing tight enough that Zuko saw stars from it.

“I can’t,” Zuko sobs, “I can’t, please.”

“You can,” Sokka says, and he adjusts his grip again.

“I _can’t,”_ Zuko insists, because Sokka’s not _getting it._

“No, you _can,”_ Sokka says, and when Zuko looks up at him he’s smiling. “You can come.” Sokka twists his wrist, pumping rapidly, hard enough that it shoves Zuko up the bed and pulls excruciatingly at his wrists.

It’s exactly nothing that he wanted, and he comes viciously to it, eyes rolling back.

Sokka doesn’t wait for him to finish his orgasm, letting go and straddling Zuko’s chest. His thumb presses against Zuko’s bottom lip, shoving it open, and Zuko makes another teakettle noise of arousal and confusion.

“Whuh,” he tries to ask, still not in enough control of his face muscles to open his eyes or say words, even if Sokka’s thumb wasn’t holding him open.

“Pretty,” Sokka breathes, thumb coming away with lipstick. He licks it off, hips rolling forward to press the head of his cock against Zuko’s mouth. There’s slickness there already, hot and musky, and Zuko licks at it absently.

He can’t do much more than choose between opening his mouth or sucking at the head, and he chooses the second, wrapping his lips around it. The skin is velvety soft, and salty.

“Uhn,” Sokka says, hand gripping Zuko’s jaw. He slips his thumb between Zuko’s teeth and presses against the hinge there, forcing his mouth open. “Wreck you?”

Zuko moves up into the motion as much as he can, which given his position and that all of his muscles are inconveniently made of water, is not much. He focuses on his breathing, forcing his tongue to relax.

“Fuck, yes,” Sokka gasps, immediately forcing Zuko to deepthroat. Despite how much he wants to-- and Agni, does he want to-- it’s too much too fast, and Zuko chokes.

Sokka pulls out, and Zuko coughs, eyes watering.

Before he can ask him to put it back Sokka does, just as hard as before, and Zuko takes it as best as he can. His legs thrash a little underneath Sokka, overwhelmed, and Sokka grabs his hand where it’s clawing at the sheets to thread their fingers together and squeeze.

A few strokes, and his throat is convulsing, losing the rhythm of it. Not that there’s much rhythm to begin with, and Sokka pulls out with a curse.

“In your mouth?” he asks. “Or on your face?”

Zuko, forced to _make a decision,_ hacks in a wretched, wet breath at how overwhelming it all is.

“Face it is,” Sokka gasps, stroking himself the rest of the way, hips jerking as he grinds down against Zuko’s chest. Zuko closes his eyes just in time, knowing Sokka’s face well enough to tell when it’s close. None hits them, but it gets as high as his cheekbones.

They’re both silent for a while. Zuko keeps his eyes closed, occasionally clearing his throat. Sokka swallows deep, shuddering breaths, hand still squeezing Zuko’s. Zuko squeezes back.

Eventually, when Zuko thinks he’s going to fall asleep with jizz all over his face, Sokka climbs off. He comes back with a washcloth, predictably warm and wet, and wipes Zuko down with gentle, shaking hands.

“You okay?” Zuko rasps, barely able to keep his eyes open. But this is. Important.

Sokka climbs in behind him and kisses his shoulder, and the top of his spine, and the back of his neck. It’s gentle, the way he was trying to be earlier. Zuko feels like that’s important, even if he can’t navigate why.

It’s nicer, now, anyways. It feels soothing on his nerves instead of grating.

“Love you,” Sokka answers, just as quiet. “Don’t talk, you’ll hurt your throat.”

“Mmm, wanna feel it,” Zuko hums.

That makes Sokka tighten his grip around Zuko’s chest. “Love you,” he says again.

“Love y’too,” Zuko says, and then yawns. He feels every second of it, and it feels _good._ He feels good.

***

There’s tea for him the next morning. Sitting next to it is a jar of honey and a bowl of rice. Sokka’s sitting on the other side of the table, eating his giant plate of meat and making notes on a notepad.

“Y’think,” Zuko starts, voice a painful whisper.

“Not often,” Sokka answers, glancing up at him with a smile. He takes in Zuko’s appearance, probably mapping the finger shaped bruises and scratches, and grins wider.

Zuko rolls his eyes, chin rested on his fist. The gravity and the lock of his elbow joint is the only thing keeping him upright.

“Y’think y’could read those books,” he asks. He gets through the whole sentence, and then has to stop, grimacing. He dumps a liberal amount of honey in his tea.

“Drink your tea,” Sokka says, pointing at it. Zuko’s not sure if Sokka didn’t hear him correctly or if he’s ignoring him. He makes a face at him, then dunks the spoon in the honey again, and shoves the whole thing in his mouth.

Mai— he doesn’t _want_ her to be right. He doesn’t want to think about it, think that maybe the misunderstandings are too great, that Sokka doesn’t understand the _foundations_ of what their relationship means to Zuko. But that’s what he’s been afraid of this whole time, and he thought— he had excuses, for when it was just him. But it’s not just him. Mai and Ty Lee care about him. Rely on him to have his shit the barest modicum of together.

Sokka clears his throat nervously, tapping his pencil against the table. “Um, yesterday got me thinking.”

“I thought you didn’t--”

“Tea,” Sokka orders again as Zuko starts hacking.

Zuko drinks the fucking tea, but he makes it clear that it’s _his_ choice and _very_ unrelated to any recent statements from other parties.

“Good job. You know it’s just you for me, right?” He tacks it on at the end of the praise, and Zuko’s feeling so warm and pleased with it that he almost misses the admission.

“I thought you needed a wife,” he says. Every word hurts, and it’s not just because of his throat. It’s— that’s how it should be, he just doesn’t like competition, and Sokka loves— differently than he does.

Sokka’s eyebrows raise, surprised. “Who told you that?”

“Your dads,” Zuko says. “Mentioned. Heirs.”

The pencil in Sokka’s fist snaps and Zuko jumps. Sokka sets it aside and rubs at his face, groaning into his palms.

“Don’t listen to them. I’m not doing things their way anymore.”

Zuko works through that one, and ends up more confused. He pushes it aside. He has limited energy to work with, throat rough.

“Did you think I was gonna just break up with you one day? Or what, you’d be my side piece?” Sokka asks, exasperated in the way that means he’s mostly joking because the premise is ridiculous to him.

“Yes,” Zuko says, and waves a hand at his face demonstratively. “No to the other one. That’s not—” he has to pause to take a sip of tea. “--how we do it. I’m already your… culturally, for me, I’m already that.”

“What does that mean?” Sokka asks, clearly unhappy with it.

Zuko takes another sip. “We’re not courting, officially, but we’re—”

Sokka only gets the first part of what Zuko’s trying to tell him, because immediately after he starts talking there’s a heavy knock on the door to their apartment. Great. Fan-fucking-tastic.

When Sokka comes back up the stairs it’s with his dads in tow and a sour expression.

“Zuko,” Bato says. “You’re looking...mauled.”

“Bato,” Sokka warns, arms crossed.

“Thanks,” Zuko rasps, beyond done with this. This is _his home._ He’s allowed to— eat breakfast here, Sokka said he _could,_ he _can._ “I wear it well, yes?”

Sokka smiles, proud, and that pride gives Zuko more confidence. Neither of them know how to respond to that, so instead they turn to Sokka, who offers them nothing in the form of social respite.

“Toast?” Zuko asks, voice gravel in his throat. He picks up a piece of bread, and presses his fingers and palms over as much as he can. He smiles at them, pleasantly. “Just say when.”

Then he directs the heat to his hands, and waits for someone to tell him to stop.

“You’re so cool,” Sokka says, heading to the kitchen to grab breakfast for them.

“Uhh,” Bato says as Sokka clatters away. “When?” Sokka’s dad sits down across from them, and Bato stands awkwardly at his side.

Zuko drops the toast on Bato’s plate, and looks at Hakoda. He can’t quite make eye contact, but he’s faking it well enough, faking everything well enough. He’s trembling, slightly.

He raises another piece of bread between his hands, and gestures it at Hakoda questioningly.

“None for me,” Hakoda says quietly.

Sokka comes up behind Zuko and kisses his cheek. “Two for me, please.” He squeezes Zuko’s shoulder.

“You never say when,” Zuko complains, but focuses on the toast, getting it golden brown.

“It’s funny watching your face,” Sokka counters.

“You _have_ a funny face,” Zuko says, dropping the toast carelessly by Sokka’s plate. He picks up another piece of bread.

“Shut up and drink your tea,” Sokka says, poking at the bruise at the corner of Zuko’s mouth.

Zuko makes an obnoxious gargle-growl through his wrecked throat, but then shuts up. He’s getting through this by ignoring Sokka’s _parents_ his _parents_ are there _that’s someone’s father,_ that’s _Sokka’s_ father.

“So,” Sokka says, pulling his chair next to Zuko. Zuko can’t help but to notice that Sokka and Hakoda are across from each other, making Zuko and Bato the partners. “What’s up?”

“We’re heading home soon,” Hakoda says. “And we’d _appreciate_ it if you _considered_ joining us.” His voice has a layer of sarcasm to it on some of the words, almost like he’s quoting someone.

“Dad,” Sokka groans, exasperated. Zuko tenses from Sokka’s tone alone, prepared for Hakoda to lash out, but he doesn’t.

Instead he sighs, holding out his hand. “I know, I know. I had to try, okay? Your gran-gran would know if I didn’t at least attempt a guilt trip.”

“And then she’d--”

“--come up here and do it herself,” Sokka and Bato say at the same time, laughing a little.

“Well,” Sokka says, smiling. “Thanks. When you put it that way, you’re doing me a favor.”

“That’s diplomacy, son,” Hakoda says nobly. “That’s being a chief.”

“Rude,” Sokka mutters.

“That’s being full of shit,” Bato says, louder, and knocks Hakoda’s shoulder with the back of his hand. Hakoda laughs, and knocks his hand away. Zuko watches the way their fingers linger on each other, just a little longer than they should for the casualness of the movement.

“We also wanted to apologize,” Bato says, turning to Zuko. Zuko, who feels like he’s simultaneously on fire and encased in ice by the attention.

“I’m a window,” he says, messing up _I’m fine_ and _I accept_ and _Urgent business out the window._ He stands, chair screeching backwards.

Bato’s smile tightens, but he’s trying. He’s trying? Why is he trying? Zuko looks to Sokka, eyes wide and panicked.

Sokka can’t help him. Sokka doesn’t know why this is so terrifying to Zuko, Sokka thinks he’s just-- quirky.

“Zuko, he’s not going to eat you,” Sokka says, and catches his hand. “Please don’t jump out the window.”

The sound Zuko makes irritates his throat and he’s forced to sit, if only to soothe it with tea before he coughs directly into the faces of Sokka’s dads.

“We’re sorry we got off on the wrong foot with you,” Sokka’s dad says, wiping his face off with a napkin. His lips are pressed tightly together, unamused. He appears to be ignoring— everything.

Zuko is going to faint. He has the thought, and then his body cruelly refuses to. He is unbearably conscious.

Bato scoots closer to Hakoda and glances at Sokka. “Sometimes it’s easy to forget how lucky me and your dad are. It’s been so many years, and we just-- we thought about it. And, you have our permission.”

Sokka goes stiff next to him, eyes on his dad. “What about the heir,” he says, careful.

“No-- not that,” Hakoda says, apologetic. “Still not that. But everything else. If you wanted to make a necklace, the tribe--”

Sokka shoves his chair back hard enough that it clatters to the floor. It cuts his dad off, and he stands slowly with Bato.

Zuko doesn’t stand, or fall out of his chair, or anything dramatic. He just goes very, very, _very_ still. He feels like his head is floating away, and he stares at the table.

“It was nice seeing you guys,” Sokka says, making a beeline to the door. “Thanks for your blessing. I have to prepare for work now.”

“We love you,” Bato says, following. He’s eating his toast. Zuko notes that very, very distantly.

Hakoda glances around the apartment, eyes tracking the bits of clothing laying around from the night before. The lipstick had rolled out of his pocket and Zuko realizes with dismay that he probably has makeup smeared all over his face.

Hakoda tries to meet Zuko’s eyes, and Zuko drops his gaze immediately, a cowed half bow to his head.

“We’re trying to work with you, son,” Hakoda says to Sokka.

“And I’m trying to get to work,” Sokka says, smiling furiously. The door is open, and his arm is flat against it. “At my job.”

“Alright,” Hakoda sighs, deeply. He presses a hand to Sokka’s shoulder as he passes, squeezes. “Write more, would you?”

Sokka catches his dad and pulls him into a proper hug, back slaps and rocking. Bato gets one next, and even though Sokka’s still visibly incensed they press their foreheads together familiarly. “Not a chance, old man.”

***

“The city has made your son a slut,” Bato remarks, as they hit the sidewalk.

“It’s made _something_ of him,” Hakoda agrees grimly.

***

“Zuko? Zuko, you wanna come out from under the table?” Sokka asks.

Zuko does not.

“I have to go to work, are you going to be okay?” Sokka asks.

Zuko nods to show he will.

“Are you going to stay under the table the whole time?”

Zuko nods.

“Okay, come on, there’s tables at the restaurant,” Sokka says.

Sokka holds out his hand, and Zuko takes it.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> some physical abuse warning for this one (not between zuko & sokka), and Zuko bites his hand at one point to help calm down during a stressful moment (not very hard or anything)

Zuko has no idea until they reach Katara’s house that Sokka is upset with her. Nothing seemed out of the ordinary with their plans to visit, nothing but of a typical check in and dinner with the airhead and his offspring. 

He knows that Sokka is acting— weird. There’s something off in the way he’s moving, in his smile. But Zuko’s working on trusting him more, not second guessing everything. So he doesn’t question him. 

He… probably should have. 

He definitely wouldn’t have come along if he had. 

“Hey, Katara!” Sokka says, grinning furiously. “Got? Some big news for me?” He’s clutching Zuko’s hand tight enough that his knuckles crack. 

“Uhh,” Katara says, exchanging a confused look with Zuko. _“Do_ I, weirdo? Hey, Zuko, good to see you.”

She moves in for a quick side hug that Zuko flinches from, and smoothly moves out of it, reaching up to fix her hair instead. Zuko appreciates the maneuver, because neither of them have to acknowledge _that_ weirdness and instead get to focus on Sokka’s. 

“I guess it’s easy to forget to tell your big brother things, what with the important life you have as a waterbending master and wife of an Avatar and stuff. It’s cool, dad filled me in.” Sokka’s voice is tight, very much _not_ conveying ‘cool.’ 

Ohhhkay.

Zuko very gently tries to pull his hand away. Sokka’s hand spasms, and he stops immediately. So. He’s. Here for this. He’s stuck here for this. His breathing quickens and his face goes flat. 

Zuko is furious with Sokka for literally dragging him into a family conflict. The angrier he gets, the more placid his body goes, until Zuko’s looking dully over Katara’s shoulders, listening to the harshness of his breath. His hand is a limp fish in Sokka’s. 

Sokka doesn’t even notice. 

Which— yeah, it’s not— how would he? That shouldn’t make him more angry. He’s specifically trying to _not_ let anyone notice he’s angry, why would he be _angrier_ that Sokka’s not noticing?

Katara and Sokka have been talking, dull background noise. Katara’s voice ticks up in a way that has Zuko slamming back into awareness, though, and he realizes that her fists are at her hips and she’s moved into a waterbending stance with her feet. 

It’s fine. It’s habit for him, too; falling into a basic stance is a way of steadying against potential attacks, verbal or otherwise. She’s certainly not going to hurt Sokka. 

Except she absolutely could. 

“I didn’t realize it was any of your business,” Katara snaps, defensive, and Zuko’s lost the plot and tries to catch up. 

“How could it _not_ be?!” Sokka demands, incredulous. “What, is there some _other_ kid around? You know a lost sibling I don’t?”

That makes Katara angrier. Zuko’s vision is going blurry and then too sharp, he keeps forgetting how to breathe right. 

“We made that pact like ten years ago, Sokka! How was I supposed to know that you’re still taking childhood promises seriously? I mean, I have a life! I can’t—” 

Sokka finally lets go of Zuko’s hand to throw his in the air. One whooshes by his ear close enough that Zuko flinches away violently. Neither of them notice. 

_Oh, good,_ Zuko thinks, distantly. He can leave now. 

He can just— he can just walk away. He can do that. He’s doing that. Right...now. Now. _Now._

“What about _my_ life?” Sokka asks, gesturing at Zuko. “That pact was because I don’t want a _wife_ , Katara. Does it look like that’s changed?!”

Oh no. No, no, not this. Zuko’s stomach drops and he backs away, face pale. Sokka’s talking about things that Zuko’s been afraid of thinking, casually, cruelly. 

_They_ haven’t even talked about it yet. Something— _this,_ people yelling and Zuko’s brain going fuzzy with fear— keeps coming up. 

“I’m going to,” Zuko says, pointing at the door, and then just-- leaves. 

“Look what you did,” he hears Katara say, and then the sharp cut of Sokka’s yell, _“Me?!”_

And then he’s on the street, and he’s sprinting. 

Today can’t get any worse, so he goes home.

***

“You have everything,” Sokka says, voice breaking. “And all I’ve ever asked of you is this one thing.” Katara’s always been strong willed and independent. She’s never done what she’s told and people are usually better off for it, because she’s kind and selfless to a fault. Sokka never expected her to do something so _selfish_ , not when she _knows_ how lucky she is. 

Katara’s face goes red, eyes filling with tears. “It’s not a fair thing to ask of me! Why do I— I’m not _any_ different from you, I’m not even the _oldest._ And I— I have a _real_ family and a real job, where I really help people. Why do I have to give up my life for yours?” 

_Real_ family. _Real_ job. 

Katara’s been pushing him to be more proud of the work he does with his dad and the tribe. She seemed so proud of him at the dinner, beaming at him, eyes like mom’s. 

Sokka never expected it. And Katara sees it, too, if the way her eyes go wide and her hands go to her mouth are any sign. Sokka’s already shaking his head. 

“I didn’t mean that,” she says against her palms. 

“No, you did,” Sokka says. “You just didn’t mean to say it.”

Her hand goes to her belly and she moves closer, leaning against the table. “No, I really didn’t mean it. It’s the pregnancy, I say things I don’t mean and I get emotional. I shouldn’t be yelling at you.” 

Sokka scowls, offended. “What, am I going to ruin your baby too?” 

Katara shoves him with one hand, angry. “No, asshole. I mean I’m _sorry_ for yelling at you. I got confused and emotional ‘cause I didn’t know you were still adamant about the whole tribe thing.” 

“When— why would I change my mind?” Sokka asks. 

“I thought things are different with Zuko?” Katara asks hesitantly. “Than they were with Toph, I mean. And we made that promise when you and Toph were doing all of,” she waves her hand away, meant to encompass _baggage_ , “that.” 

“Yeah, sure, they’re _different,”_ Sokka says. “He’s a guy. And you know how dad and Bato are, they don’t— he’s not going to be my Lover if I become Chief. Tui, what were you thinking?”

The way Katara’s eyebrows set screams disappointment. Sokka grits his teeth against it, unwilling to be cowed by her. 

“Sokka, I don’t know? I was thinking you’d grown up enough to care about what you want instead of what everyone else wants for a change,” she says, shrugging. 

Sokka sucks in a deep breath, lets it out. It doesn’t make him any calmer.

“And _that,_ ” he says, opening the door. “Is why you’d make a shit Chief.”

***

The gates open for him easily. The servants know him, of course, even if he hasn’t been home in… 

“How long has it been, brother?” Azula asks. She’s sunning herself by the pond in the front yard, hands clasped behind her head. She hasn’t even opened her eyes. Someone must have seen him coming down the street and told her.

Zuko grunts at her. Words are not. Working. 

She tips her head to the side lazily, hair falling across the side of her face. It obscures her expression just enough to let Zuko’s imagination fill in the gaps with sharp teeth and red pupils. 

“Father is expecting me tonight,” she says mildly. “He’ll be thrilled that you’re coming along.” 

“Not,” Zuko grates out. His tongue feels wrong in his mouth, and it almost hurts to force himself to talk. But if he doesn’t, she’ll say he went back on his word. The ones he _can’t physically say._

Azula laughs, and tucks her bangs behind her ear. No wolves teeth, no glowing eyes. Just Azula. 

It’s far more terrifying this way. 

“Bye-bye,” Zuko says, and waves. He feels stupid, immediately, but ignores it, turning towards the main building of the palace. 

“See you tonight, Zuzu,” she calls after him. 

“Not!” he yells. A passing servant startles, nearly drops the basket of fresh laundry. He grimaces apologetically at her, but she won’t meet his eyes, won’t even look up to see his expression.

Right. Great.

The hallways are mostly empty, and where they aren’t, the servants scatter as he strides through them. The wallpaper seems to shimmer at the edges, the tile and wood blurring as he moves over them. His footsteps are too loud, and they scare him, tension winding tighter and tighter.

He makes it to his bedroom. It’s not dusty or visibly disused, since it’s cleaned daily. It feels empty and soulless none the less, clothes hanging in the closets that are no longer familiar to him, books he doesn’t remember reading.

The insignia plaque isn’t in his desk where he left it. It’s his private desk in his bedchambers, all red wood and hand carved engravings. It’s in pristine condition, the only thing in the drawers pages of original fantasies. 

The top right drawer has a lock on it. It was foolish of him to leave it in the locked drawer; of course that’s where a thief would look for valuable information. 

Zuko feels around the empty drawer one more time before shutting it. He doesn’t bother locking it, tossing the key on the seat of the chair and going to check his jewelry box for his signet ring. 

He’s not actually surprised to find that missing too. Again: signet ring with the jewelry. It’s practical, organized. He never wears it, and had no reason to think of it when he left. 

“I think it looks lovely on me,” Azula says from the doorway. She’s examining Zuko’s ring on her hand, turning it back and forth so that the ruby catches the light. 

Zuko sits on the edge of his bed, hands clasped between his knees. He stares at her, silently. 

“What? No compliment?” Azula pouts. “Wow. I can _really_ see why you have such luck with the ladies, Zuzu.”

Zuko gestures at her other hand, _you already have one._ She’s wearing hers too, of course, and pretends to be surprised by it. 

“Oh, this? It’s so much _smaller_ than yours, don’t you think? I know mom said they were the same, but you and I both know that’s not true at all.” 

“You have smaller hands,” Zuko says. He doesn’t entirely mean to speak, but it’s just so _stupid_ that it comes out.

“And you’re just smaller, aren’t you?” Azula responds casually. “Figuratively speaking, of course. As a boy you’re bigger than me physically, but you can be disappointed about that on your own time.” 

Zuko grits his teeth, standing. He’s not— he’s not _doing_ this. He knows how to hurt her back. He just. Doesn’t want to.

“Please give me my ring,” he says, voice flat. 

She finally looks away from the stone, catching his gaze sharply. It’s calculated, and he sees her lips curl as he looks away. 

“Or your ring,” he says. “Since mine is better.”

“These rings are valuable,” Azula clucks. “Signs of our status. Of our honor. You didn’t seem to care for them.” She waits, a pause. “The rings, of course.” 

Zuko rolls his head to the side, staring down at her. She wants something, and it’s _probably_ not for him to go to dinner with her. It’s hard to tell if she wants to hurt him. Of course, she _always_ wants to hurt him. It’s the specifics of it that escape him. Does she want him to fight? Stay still? Make himself a target first?

He gambles.

“Father made it clear that he was unhappy with me,” Zuko says. “I thought it best to,” he shrugs, “not remind him he’d judged me dishonorable. But the laws.”

Something confusing crosses over Azula’s face. It’s gone between one blink and the next, and he doesn’t have the time to try and parse the meaning before she’s snapping at him again. 

“How brave of you to leave when Father isn’t happy with you,” she says, anger pushing against the seams of her control. “How honorable. And why come back, hm? For this?” Azula wiggles her fingers. “Or to get another look at what you’ve ruined?” She gestures at the mirror beside them, clearly staring at his face. 

Right. So she wants a fight.

Zuko smiles at her, unpleasantly. “The laws are changing. If I want to keep visiting what _you’ve_ ruined, I need my ring. So, give it.”

There’s a pause, where her face is entirely blank. 

“I mean Mai and Ty Lee,” he clarifies. “I need the ring so I can visit Mai. My intended?”

Azula clenches her hand into a fist. 

“Take it,” she says, and punches him so hard that he falls to the floor, grabbing at his cheek. The ring hits the wood with a thud and a roll, and she slams the door behind her.

He’s bleeding. 

Great.

***

Zuko does his best to bandage it, but he’s aware that his face is swelling by the minute. He’s not sure what the message is, that she aimed for the unscarred side of his face. She knows the scar hurts him. Trying to make him match? Or was she just too angry to maximize the pain?

He slides the ring on, after he rinses it off. Doesn’t head for the Jasmine Dragon, even though he wants to see Uncle, wants to remind himself that not everyone is… that it’s not always like that. He doesn’t want to see Mai, either. It would be— pointed. Unnecessarily cruel. She knew what going home would do, but she wasn’t wrong about it being necessary. He doesn’t need to shove it in her face. 

So he goes to his and Sokka’s apartment. Home. Actual home, this time.

When he comes through the door Sokka’s sitting on the sofa, reading a book with the blanket over his shoulders and his knees curled up to his chest. For a hopeful moment Zuko thinks _finally_ , but no-- it’s some mystery paperback, not one of the texts on the five relationships that Zuko’s stacked pointedly on the tea table. 

At least he doesn’t look hurt. Especially since his hair is frizzing at the top, like it’d gotten wet. 

Sokka glances up as the door shuts, blinking himself out of the trancelike state he gets in while reading. His eyes drop to Zuko’s cheek and his eyebrows rise, alarm clear in his features. 

“Everything good with Katara?” Zuko asks, ignoring the question in Sokka’s face and flopping onto the other side of the couch. He leans down to untie his boots, watching Sokka out of one eye. 

Sokka tosses the book aside without marking his page. The blanket falls on the floor as soon as he stands, and then Sokka’s hands are on him, hot and big and too much. 

Zuko stills, sitting up. He toes his boots off, only half unlaced. They take his socks with them, and he makes a face that hurts at the sensation.

“What happened?” Sokka asks, His thumb presses against the corner of Zuko’s lip, just under where the throbbing from Azula’s punch is most acute. “Did you get into a fight?” 

Zuko very gently reaches up to pull Sokka’s hand away. He can’t talk with him touching his mouth, not without shoving all the tender bits against his hand. 

“No,” Zuko says. “Don’t worry about it. What are we having for dinner?”

It’s stupid to try and distract him, even with food. Sokka frowns harder, moving his hand from Zuko’s face to his neck. It’s still big and hot, and he swallows, forcing himself to stay still instead of pulling away like he wants to. 

“I’m worried,” Sokka tells him. Nothing else is forthcoming, putting the responsibility to carry the conversation on Zuko. Fuck that. 

“Kay,” Zuko acknowledges. Acknowledging people’s feelings is important. “Don’t be. It’s fine.”

Sokka’s hand flexes on Zuko’s neck. For a moment he thinks— 

But Sokka pulls away. 

“That, what your pupils just did, that’s _concerning,”_ Sokka says, shaking his hand out. He takes a few steps back, and Zuko is relieved but doesn’t want to be. It made more sense when Sokka was touching him.

“I like you,” Zuko says stupidly. It’s the only answer he can think of to Sokka’s unasked question. He stands, kicking his boots against the wall, and moves to pick up the blanket and lay it on the couch. He reaches for Sokka’s book, stopped by Sokka’s hand on his wrist. 

“I was just going to put it up,” Zuko defends, heart thumping. 

Sokka pulls his hand up, turning it to look at the ring curiously. 

Oh. That. 

“Signet ring,” Zuko says, letting Sokka examine it. He doesn’t look at it, doesn’t want to think about it right now. “Had to pick it up.”

“You got into a fight in the upper ring?” Sokka asks, bewildered. “It’s the middle of the day. What, was Jet trying to steal some lady’s purse again?” 

The reminder of Jet reminds him of his face, which reminds him of the mirror and Azula’s icy taunt. Zuko tugs at his hand, silently asking for it back. Sokka lets go, but steps into Zuko’s space again instead. 

“I didn’t get into a fight, it’s fine,” he says. Fuck, he shouldn’t have— now he’s gotta figure out a reason _why_ he’s injured that isn’t a fight.

Sokka’s patience visibly runs out. 

“I fell?” Zuko tries, cringing apologetically. 

Sokka is scowling again. 

“I hate it when you lie to me,” he says bluntly. Zuko flinches again, eyes closed. 

“Okay, I didn’t fall,” Zuko says, head tilted down, shoulders tilted in. “I just don’t— I don’t want you to worry.” 

“Why?” Sokka asks, hands on Zuko’s shoulders now, like he can force them to relax. Zuko tenses further. “Why don’t you want me to worry? I’m supposed to worry about you, and you’re supposed to be honest with me.” 

Zuko really can’t do this today. 

“Honestly?” Zuko asks, an edge to his voice. “Because I don’t trust you to do the right thing.”

There’s a long moment. It’s not the same as at the palace, the air heavier with potential. In the palace Zuko knew that whatever Azula said next would be meant to hurt him. Here, Zuko knows whatever Sokka says _will_ hurt him.

“The right thing for me,” Zuko clarifies quickly. “I trust you— generally, to do the right thing. But not on this. I just need you to stay out of it. I’m handling it.”

“Oh,” Sokka finally says, voice small. Zuko takes a breath, steeling himself as he glances at his face. 

Sokka’s crying. 

Zuko really, _really_ can’t do this today. 

“Sorry,” Sokka says, trying to laugh. He scrubs at his eyes with the heels of his palms and takes a few steps back. 

“It’s not,” Zuko says, frustrated. He clenches his hands and then unclenches them, quicker and quicker. _“You_ aren’t the problem, Sokka. Okay? You’re a good person.”

“No, no,” Sokka agrees, “you’re not either, I’m sorry. I just-- I never fight with Katara, and I’m freaking out on you because of it. Don’t--” 

They both hear what he’s about to say, and Sokka looks at Zuko, mouth open and startled. 

“Don’t you dare,” Zuko warns. 

Sokka bursts into laughter. 

“ _Worry about it,_ ” Sokka laughs, still wiping at his eyes. “Okay, I know, my bad.” 

“Agni,” Zuko groans, catching Sokka’s collar and falling backwards onto the couch. He drags him on top of himself, feeling pleasantly crushed instead of the sharp wrongness of earlier. “Why _were_ you fighting with Katara? And why did you _bring me?_ ”

Sokka shifts around, getting comfortable in the most uncomfortable way possible. An elbow lands in Zuko’s ribs and he thanks Agni that Azula only gifted him the one punch. 

“Tribe stuff,” Sokka mutters, finally stilling. His chin is digging into Zuko’s chest, and his hands go to Sokka’s hair automatically. He pulls out the tie and sets it aside. “It’s not important.” 

Zuko stares at the ceiling. 

He’s known, for a long time, that Sokka and Katara are the kids of the Chief of the Southern Water Tribe. He thought it was an elected position, but he’s— less sure, now. It _sounds_ important. 

But he really doesn’t have any room to call Sokka on it. There’s plenty he’s not saying about his own familial responsibilities.

“Is there like, a book I could read?” he asks. “On this… not important… topic.”

“I’d rather not get you involved,” Sokka admits. It hurts, like all rejection does. 

Zuko laughs, a bit ironically. “Worried I’ll do the wrong thing?”

Sokka shakes his head, digging his chin into Zuko’s chest with the motion. 

“Stop that,” Zuko says, shoving his hand under Sokka’s face. Sokka turns to lay his cheek there instead. 

“No. I don’t trust them to do the right thing with _you._ ” 

Zuko has no idea what that means. 

“I have no idea what that means.” 

Sokka shrugs. “It’s complicated,” he says. 

“If they do something to me, I probably deserve it,” Zuko reassures him.

For some reason that makes Sokka go still and heavy on top of him. Sokka tightens his arm where he’s slipped it between Zuko’s back and the couch, his other one tucked up against his chest. 

“If you don’t remember anything I tell you, remember this.” His voice is serious. Zuko’s sure that Sokka can hear the way his heartbeat speeds up at the tone. “Whatever ends up happening, I picked you. Okay?” 

“Sokka,” Zuko says as gently as he can while he’s descending into a panic attack. “I _have no idea what that means.”_

“Hnngg,” Sokka grumbles. “It means my tribe is full of old jerks who don’t like change and I don’t give a fuck what they think.” It sounds hollow to Zuko. He wonders if Sokka hears himself, or is just saying what he thinks Zuko wants to hear. He thinks he would have been more reassured if Sokka said ‘I pick you’, not ‘I _picked_ you’. _Yeah, Sokka, I’ll remember this brief time when I’m the most important thing to you forever,_ he thinks sarcastically. 

“Are they... not happy?” Zuko asks quietly. It’s all that he can get out past the tightness in his throat. 

“Me and Katara had a fight,” Sokka says. “It’s stupid. She made a promise and she broke it, and now I’m stuck dealing with the mess. I just don’t want you to get caught up in South Pole politics.” 

“Are you… important? Politically?” Zuko asks. “Because I thought it was an elected position. Like... the road commissioner.”

Sokka laughs softly, breath hot and wet against Zuko’s neck. “Well, Prince Zuko,” he says. Zuko knows it’s meant to be teasing, but he hates it nonetheless. Sokka doesn’t notice. “It’s very much not elected. I’m next in line. Was, next in line. Might be again?” He groans. 

“Right,” Zuko says. “Right. And. That means?”

“Seabullshit,” Sokka answers. 

“Right, okay,” Zuko says, as reasonably as he can. “But I don’t know if you’ve noticed, though it would be hard not to, but this isn’t the South Pole? We don’t, live in the South Pole. Are you leaving?”

“No!” Sokka says, too loud. Zuko flinches and Sokka sits up to look at him. “No, I am not leaving.” _You, say you._

“Not right now,” Zuko says. He goes to rub at his face but then has to stop when he feels the cotton of the bandages. He twists at his hem, instead. 

Something occurs to him, and he asks, thinking of Azula, “did Katara take it from you?”

“What? No, that’s the problem. She was supposed to, and then she changed her mind. So now it’s back on me.” Zuko’s more confused. 

“So. You are,” Zuko says, and he hears the noise of a seam stretching. “Planning on going. Someday.”

“I don’t-- I don’t know,” Sokka admits. He chews on his lip. “It’s complicated. I’m happy here.” 

“Um, well, I,” Zuko says, and bites the inside of his cheek. He takes a deep breath through his nose and lets it out. It makes his face throb. “Just to be upfront. I can’t. I can’t leave. I have— there are things I can’t leave here.”

Sokka’s face softens. “I would never ask you to,” he says, like it’s supposed to be a comfort. Zuko’s face heats with humiliation that he even _assumed_ Sokka would invite him. 

“What do you think we are?” he asks, voice distant. “Where— where do you see us going, with this?”

“I don’t know,” Sokka answers, infuriatingly. “I don’t really think about it.” 

Zuko laughs, sharp and hurt. “Right. _Okay._ You don’t think about it. That’s— I guess that’s an answer, huh?”

“Clearly you do,” Sokka says. “Why don’t you tell me, instead of asking me to tell you?” 

“Because I don’t want to—” Zuko twists, so Sokka can’t see his face. He’s tearing up. He _hates_ this. 

Sokka sits up and Zuko aches with it, pulling his knees to his chest and slapping around for the blanket. He drags it over his shoulders and his head, feeling small and unsafe. Sokka’s sitting next to him, staring off with a stormy expression. 

He doesn’t trust Sokka to do the right thing. Or he does, and the right thing is not _ever_ going to be loving Zuko. 

But he’s been putting this off for too long. 

“It puts me in a very vulnerable position,” he says, voice small. 

Sokka’s head thunks against the wall. “What do you want from me, Zuko? I don’t know what I’m doing wrong here.” 

Zuko takes a shaky breath. There’s a lot of things he could say to that. None of them seem particularly helpful. 

“I want you to be my consort,” he says. “I want to court you. I— dating and courting are different. Dating is just fucking around, I guess. I want to know if— if that’s—”

Sokka’s nose wrinkles in disgust. “What? No it’s not. Dating is serious, it’s practicing for-- is that what you’ve thought this is this whole-- is that how you think--” 

“I don’t _know what to think!”_ Zuko shouts, covering his face. _“You_ don’t know what you think! You told me so.”

Sokka’s mouth snaps shut hard enough that Zuko can hear his teeth snap. 

“You don’t know where we’re going or what we are, but apparently we’re practising for something serious?” Zuko asks, voice tightly wound and cracking. “What the fuck does that mean?”

“Zuko,” Sokka pleads, turning to him. “I can’t predict the future, okay? I can’t make promises that I might break. I just know that _now, here,_ I love you. And I don’t want to stop loving you, and I don’t want anyone else to get in the way of it.”

Zuko doesn’t let himself be happy about that. It’s too easy. It’s— everything he wants, and all he had to do was ask for it? Yell a little? That can’t be right.

“What about Mai?” he asks. 

Sokka’s face betrays the suspicion and hurt. 

“Do you— you don’t know what an intended is, do you?” Zuko asks. He’s still hoping he’s wrong, that Mai’s wrong.

“I don’t know why you’re bringing up your friend,” Sokka says, hand clutching the couch cushions. “I saw you-- I trusted you. Should I have trusted you?” 

Fuck.

“Fuck,” Zuko says, eyes widening. “I— I don’t know. What did you trust me about?”

There’s a ringing in his ears as Sokka answers. “You wouldn’t cheat on me.” 

“No,” Zuko agrees. “I, we’re not, sleeping together. We— it’s not like we did, a lot, anyways. Even before I knew we—” he waves between them, “--were dating.”

“Oh,” Sokka says, voice small again. He rubs at his chest. 

“She’s my,” Zuko says, trying to think of how to quantify it. He’s never… had to. “Intended. It’s— she’s my… mine. Mai.”

Sokka’s crying again, furiously wiping at his face. “That sounds like she’s your girlfriend, Zuko. That sounds a lot like cheating.” 

“She’s _not_ ,” Zuko insists. “She’s my, she’s my best friend. But it’s more than— but it’s _different_ than us. She has Ty Lee. I, you’re my Ty Lee. And we’re supposed to— I mean. Fuck, this is not going to sound good.” He covers his face entirely, speaks into his hands. “I’m supposed to marry her.”

“I--” Sokka says, lurching to his feet. He’s pale, and he rushes to the bathroom. 

Yeah. This isn’t going well. 

Zuko stares at the coffee table. The stack of books on the five relationships are starting to gather a thin layer of dust on top. He doesn’t follow Sokka, knows he wouldn’t want an audience to this kind of… heartbreak.

He hears the faucet turn on after Sokka’s done retching, tightening the blanket around his shoulders when it shuts off. Sokka leans against the doorframe, not looking at him. 

“If the marriage is the bad part,” Zuko says, very quietly. “I can— I’ll,” he feels sick even suggesting it. It’s not the _plan._ It’s not how people _do this._ “I could. Break the engagement.”

But he loves Sokka. He’s— he _loves_ him.

“We’ve been together for months,” Sokka says quietly. “You live with me. You’re a part of Katara’s family-- Bumi calls you _uncle._ ” There’s another breath, Sokka composing himself. 

“How long have you been engaged to Mai?” 

Zuko tugs the blanket closer. He has to think about it. “It’s uh… it’s less formal than that, it’s just what we’ve agreed on,” he explains. “So… a decade? We wanted to wait until I had a consort, at least. Maybe longer, because she doesn’t trust my family to bargain for me fairly.”

“I can’t believe you’ve been lying to me,” Sokka mutters. “I just-- never expected it from you. I never _guessed_.” 

“I wasn’t lying,” Zuko says, wiping at his nose. “I. I told you she was my intended. I thought you _knew._ And you— I didn’t know. I’ve never tried to court someone outside of the Fire Nation, I didn’t realize it was so different.”

Sokka slides down the wall. He’s still not looking at Zuko.

“I want to believe you,” he says. “But I think-- I think we need to. To break up.”

Panic grasps Zuko suddenly and viciously, and he’s scrambling towards Sokka before he’s even registered what he’s saying. “I’ll break the engagement, I _will,_ ” he promises. “And I haven’t done anything with her, I kissed her forehead, that’s all, I didn’t know I was doing anything wrong, I’m sorry, I don’t have to marry her, please.”

Sokka’s jaw is shaking and he’s still not looking at Zuko. Sokka always looks at him, and he always hates it, but now he would give _anything_ to draw Sokka’s eyes to his. 

“Please,” he begs, hands on Sokka’s chest, his shoulders, his face. “You can trust me, I’m sorry, I’ll do better, Sokka. Sokka, I can’t-- please don’t do this.” 

He stops touching Sokka, since he’s— nonresponsive, just tenser and tenser, and he can’t stand feeling it, waiting for the snap. He fits the edge of his palm into his mouth, bites down, tries to force himself to calm. Squeezes his eyes shut. Feels better after a moment, stops. Pulls his hand out, shoves it into the bottom of his shirt to wipe it off.

Sokka’s hands lift. They’re shaking, and for a gut wrenching moment Zuko’s sure that Sokka’s going to push him away physically, and it will break Zuko, he’ll shatter. 

Then he drags Zuko against his chest, and Zuko can’t do anything but wail in relief. His hands grip Sokka’s shirt hard enough to snap some of the seams, holding him tight enough that he won’t be able to push Zuko away.

“I didn’t mean to,” he sobs. He feels like someone reached inside and mixed everything up. Nothing about their relationship has ever really made sense to him, one bewildering event after another, and this hasn’t helped. He _likes_ Sokka. He wants Sokka to like him. 

“Okay,” Sokka whispers against Zuko’s temple. “Okay. I believe you.”

“I bought you so many fucking books,” Zuko says.

“I know you did,” Sokka soothes, petting Zuko’s head. “I’m sorry. We’ll figure this out. I’m not giving up.” 

Zuko bites his shoulder. Not very hard. But he does. 

“Hey!”

“Sorry,” Zuko mutters. He meant to catch his shirt. He grabs at it with his teeth, bunching it up until he can gnaw on it. Sokka’s hands are everywhere, petting every part of him. Zuko knows that he’s crying too, chest shivering with it against Zuko’s face. 

“Are you mad at me?” Zuko asks, terrified of the answer.

Sokka holds him tighter. “Yeah, a little. Mostly I’m just hurt and-- and jealous, I think. I know you say it’s not cheating, but I feel like it’s naive of me to believe you.” He makes a gross little hiccup-snort that’s something out of Zuko’s playbook. “I don’t wanna give up yet.” 

Zuko sniffs, very hard. “It’s _not_ cheating. It’s, you saw Ty Lee and Mai? I mean, I’m pretty sure you noticed that they like. Fuck. They’re pretty obvious about it.”

Sokka laughs. “Yes. I noticed they _fuck._ ”

“Right, kay, so that’s, you’re that to me,” Zuko says.

“I’m the other woman,” Sokka says. 

“You’re my _heart,_ ” Zuko snaps. 

Sokka’s breath catches, and Agni, Zuko’s made him cry again. “That’s what it sounded like Mai was, the way you were talking,” Sokka manages. 

“No! She’s— that would be stupid, that didn’t work, we’re horrible for each other,” Zuko says, hugging Sokka harder. “She’s me. More or less. I— I’m bad at things. And she’s bad at some things. So we do them for each other. It’s, an intended is, they have your intent.”

“So she’s… your best friend?” Sokka tries, clearly confused. 

“Yeah but,” Zuko squints. “With power of attorney?”

“Oh.” He doesn’t sound convinced, but he’s not trying to break up with Zuko anymore so it’s enough. 

“We used to sleep together,” Zuko says, just to be completely honest. “But we don’t even— I don’t like women that much, and she doesn’t like men very much. We just like each other, and sometimes we’d be drunk.”

“When was the last time?” Sokka asks. 

“Week before the party where you asked me to date you and I didn’t realize,” Zuko says promptly. He’d already done that math, as soon as he figured out that they’d been together the whole time.

“So, almost two years ago,” Sokka surmises. “Have you wanted to since?” 

“Uh,” Zuko says, brain sticking on the _wanting_ to. “She hasn’t wanted to. And she knows I’m courting.”

Sokka’s hands tighten on Zuko’s sides. “Have you wanted to since,” he asks again, clearly enunciating. 

“I don’t,” Zuko says, and gently taps his forehead against the wall. “What do you mean by _want?_ ”

“Sex, Zuko!” Sokka explodes, “I mean sex. Have you wanted to have sex with your ex-girlfriend since we’ve been together?” 

“I mean, what does _wanting_ to have sex with her mean to you!” Zuko says, shoving backwards so that Sokka’s not so close to his ear when he yells again. “I’ve kind of thought about it, but I don’t — it’s not like I felt an _urge_ to or anything, I don’t _feel an urge to_ with her! And I would have said no if she asked. So tell me what you think _wanting_ means.”

“I don’t want to sleep with anyone but you,” Sokka says simply, like that’s an answer. 

“Okay,” Zuko says. “Um. Cool? Define wanting, I’m not good at— recognizing it. And I don’t, I don’t want to lie to you again, even though I wasn’t, but I don’t want you to _feel like—_ ”

Sokka’s looking at him like he’s stupid. Zuko grits his teeth, but Sokka’s not threatening to break up with him anymore, so it’s fine.

“I mean erections.”

“What the fuck does an erection have to do with Mai?” Zuko asks, frustrated.

“Sex?!” Sokka asks, hands out questioningly. 

“That’s not how I used to have sex with her,” Zuko says. “I just ate her out and sometimes she’d finger me. But usually just, that first one. I— she’s a girl, that doesn’t usually happen with me and...”

“I can’t talk about this anymore,” Sokka says sickly. “I thought you were mine this whole time, I can’t talk about this.” 

“Okay, well, no, I haven’t wanted to have sex with her, if it’s about erections,” Zuko says. 

“But you wanted to be, be, intimate?” Sokka asks despite _just saying_ he no longer wants to have the conversation. 

“No, I mean, yes, but I wanted her to smile at me,” Zuko explains. “And so I told her a joke instead, usually.”

They’re silent again. Sokka’s clearly thinking over what Zuko’s told him, hands kneading his knees and jaw working over unsaid words. 

“Don’t you… ever want to have sex with people so they’re happy with you?” Zuko asks. He feels wrong footed, like that was— maybe not a normal thing to want. That he’s been doing this wrong. 

“I… don’t think so? I usually want to have sex with you because you turn me on, or because I like making you feel good. I don’t think that’s the same thing.” Sokka admits. 

“I like making people feel good,” Zuko says. He moves to sit shoulder to shoulder with Sokka, so he doesn’t have to keep staring at his expressions. He’s not processing them, anyways. “The other bit isn’t as important. But I uh— I have that with you. I don’t have it with her.”

“Can we be done talking about this for today?” Sokka asks, leaning against Zuko’s shoulder. 

“...but not forever, right?” Zuko asks. He wipes at his face. “Because I don’t… I think we need to talk more.”

“I’m tired,” Sokka answers, climbing to his feet. “And I’m not-- I have a lot to figure out. I want to go to bed.” He’s back to looking away and Zuko panics a little, clutching at the blanket again. 

“I want dinner,” Zuko says. Sokka likes food. He can get Sokka food. “I’ll uh— I’ll go get dinner?”

“M’not hungry,” Sokka tells him. 

“I’ll go get a doctor?!” Zuko asks, fake-panicking. 

Sokka doesn’t laugh. Normally he would laugh at that.

“I’m going to bed,” Sokka says instead, and he doesn’t reach for Zuko, or give him room to follow or make any indication that he wants Zuko to join him as he enters the bedroom. 

“Fine,” Zuko says, to the empty living room. Then he stands up, and walks to the phone. He spins it, dialing Mai’s number.

“Hello?” Ty Lee answers, after a few rings.

“Hey,” Zuko says. “Can you tell Mai she was right? And also, uh. Just— look, just put her on?”

Ty Lee makes a curious noise, but does. Zuko can’t hear Sokka moving around in the bedroom. He must have just laid down. 

“Zuko?” Mai asks, voice guarded. Zuko leans against the wall. 

“Hey,” he says. “Uh. Sokka didn’t know. You were right. I uh—”

Mai swears.

“He, I think he does want to be my consort,” Zuko says, and then sniffs. “But he doesn’t, he isn’t comfortable with um. The engagement.”

“I see,” she says, voice flat. 

“I’m sorry,” Zuko says. “I— he said he’d think about it.”

“Understood,” Mai answers. 

“I’m sorry,” Zuko says again, uselessly.

Mai hangs up. It’s worse than if she’d shouted at him, and he crumples, holding the phone to his chest. 

“What are you doing?” Sokka asks, voice guarded.

“Told Mai,” Zuko says.

“Told her what?” 

“You don’t want us to marry,” Zuko says, and hangs up the phone. He drags himself to his feet. “I’m tired too.”

Zuko moves past Sokka, headed for the bedroom, but Sokka catches his arm. His hand is firm but not pinching, and Zuko waits, terrified.

“Thank you,” Sokka says quietly. “For doing it so fast. It feels. It feels like, maybe you,” he makes a frustrated sound and turns Zuko bodily so that he can hug him. “I don’t know what I’m trying to say,” he admits. 

“Me neither,” Zuko says. “It’s okay. I… she’d do the same thing for Ty Lee. And she’s not mad at you, she’s— this is my fault. I should have…”

A lot of things.

“We’ll figure it out,” Sokka says again, letting go and taking Zuko’s hand. “Tomorrow. Let’s get some sleep.”

“Yeah,” Zuko says. Sokka’s hand catches on his strangely, and he realizes it’s the ring. He’d almost forgotten about it, but now that he can feel it, it’s all he feels, heavy and odd on his finger. He walks to the bed, falls on top of it face first with his arm still stretched out to hold Sokka’s hand. 

Sokka holds him tightly from behind, thumb brushing the ring absently. Somehow, they fall asleep. 

***

Sokka feels both worse and better in the morning.

He has a headache from all of the crying. Zuko’s still asleep next to him, miraculously. The sun is slipping through the curtains to dance across his face, slack and soft in slumber. There’s hair stuck to his lips, and the pale trail of salt from where he’d cried himself to sleep the night before.

They’re fucked.

But that’s fine. They’ve been fucked this whole relationship, they just didn’t realize it.

Sokka sits up carefully, gently lifting the blanket to slide out of the bed without tugging it against Zuko’s body. His knees crack as he stands and he tiptoes out of the room. Zuko doesn’t wake, and Sokka takes a piss and brushes his teeth, head full from the day before.

Zuko’s engaged to someone else. Someone richer than him, someone fire nation. Someone who knows him and who can give him things that Sokka can’t. Like children. Like status.

There’s a yell from the bedroom, raw terror. Sokka rushes in. Zuko’s sitting upright, grasping at his chest, breathing hard as he stares blankly at the opposite wall. 

Sokka puts his knee on the bed to balance himself, reaching for Zuko, hand on his neck. “Hey? Hey, Zuko? What happened?” 

“I’m fine,” Zuko says. He’s still not looking at Sokka. It sounds automatic, half asleep. “Sorry.”

Oh, okay. Nightmare. That’s something that Sokka can handle. He sits fully on the bed, gently pushing Zuko onto his back.

“Don’t worry about it. Go back to sleep,” Sokka tells him, brushing the hair off of his face and out of his mouth. 

“No,” Zuko says, pushing the blankets down. He doesn’t make the effort to sit up. His clothes are soaked in sweat. “No. I’m. No sleeping, I think.” 

Sokka nods. “Okay. Let me get you-- you need everything, huh?” Sokka knows for a fact that Zuko didn’t do any of his before bed medications, and the day before was stressful at that. 

“No, I’m easy,” Zuko disagrees, rolling out of bed. “I’m fine. Just gonna shower.”

Sokka makes a doubtful noise but doesn’t argue. He lets Zuko shower, making tea and breakfast and setting the water weed cream on the table. 

The radio is playing a rerun of The Real Housewives of Republic City. He immediately turns it off. 

Zuko walks out of the bathroom, hair wrapped tightly in a towel, finger in the jar of the emergency water weed cream. Which has been missing for over a week.

“I see you found it,” Sokka says dryly. To be honest, he’s just relieved that Zuko’s not going to try and be a martyr today.

“Yeah, I thought I lost these pants,” Zuko says. He looks pleasantly surprised. “I didn’t think you’d remember them.”

“I pay attention to anything touching your ass,” Sokka answers solemnly, kicking Zuko’s chair out and sitting in his. He makes sure to wait until Zuko looks at him to wink. 

Zuko screws the cap on the water weed, but doesn’t touch his tea or food. 

“It’s tomorrow,” he says. 

Sokka’s heart skips painfully. Hearts probably aren’t meant to do that. It’s got to be why it hurts so much when it happens. 

“So what are your boundaries?” Zuko asks, folding his hands. His spine is straight, and somehow formal.

“I love you,” Sokka says, hating the way Zuko’s treating him. He takes a pointed bite from his sausage. 

Zuko blinks at him. “...okay,” he says, cautiously. “I don’t know what that means. What are things you _don’t_ want me to do?”

Sokka thinks about that while he chews. This could get dangerously close to ‘I want to do what you want me to do’ territory. He swallows, drinks some Fire Flower tea.

“I don’t want you to cheat on me,” he says. “And I don’t want you to lie to me. Especially if it’s just to make me happy.” That should be simple enough. 

“Okay. Define cheating on you,” Zuko says. “And do you not want me to lie ever? Because you said _especially,_ which means you don’t want it more sometimes, which implies it’s okay for me to do sometimes.”

Maybe not. 

“I mean,” Sokka screws up his face. “Cheating is cheating? Don’t have a secret relationship with someone else. If you fall in love with someone else, break up with me first.” It hurts to say it, but it’s dulled by the absurdity of having to explain it. 

Zuko sits there, chewing on that. Sokka thinks it doesn’t warrant quite so much _chewing._

“...I can’t control that,” Zuko says, frowning at the table. “How— how would I know I was _going_ to fall in love with someone else before I did it, so I could break up with you first? That’s not.”

“No, that’s not what I--I meant, if you fall in love with someone else, break up with me before you act on it. Actually, just-- don’t be with me unless you’re--”

“Why would I act on someone else if I have you?” Zuko asks. He sounds frustrated.

“Why’d you stay with Mai while you were with me?” Sokka asks, immediately regretting it with the way Zuko’s face goes stricken. Still, a small part of him is satisfied from it, wanting Zuko to know how it felt. 

“Me and Mai aren’t like this,” Zuko says. “She has Ty Lee. And I broke the engagement last night, so you don’t have to act like—” 

“Over a year,” Sokka says, tapping his finger on the table.

“Over a _decade,”_ Zuko says, sharply. 

“Did she know about me?” Sokka interrupts, getting angry. Zuko’s acting like Sokka’s the one who’s doing something wrong here. 

“Of course?” Zuko says. “Why wouldn’t she?”

Yeah, why wouldn’t she? Why wouldn’t Zuko tell her, someone he clearly loves and trusts so much? “Why wouldn’t I?” 

“Well, you would, if you had read—” Zuko cuts himself off. “I thought you knew.”

“It’s not a book’s job to tell me when you’re in a _relationship_ with someone else,” Sokka snaps. 

“I’m not in the same relationship as I am with you!” Zuko says.

“That doesn’t matter! She could have been your favorite author, I don’t care! You should have told me. I didn’t even know she was more than someone you knew until recently.” Sokka cannot believe that this is still a fight. He cannot fathom how Zuko can see this as anything short of dishonesty. Zuko knows so much about his life simply because they share it, how could he think keeping this from Sokka is _okay_?

“I _told_ ,” Zuko cuts himself off again. “Okay. Okay. Fine. I’m sorry that I misunderstood. I _thought_ you knew. So one of your boundaries is knowing every…” he looks at the ceiling. “Every interaction I have with other people? And feeling I have about them?”

Sokka bristles. “That’s absurd.” 

“You just said I have to tell you who my favorite author is,” Zuko points out. 

“I didn’t tell you that you had to, I said I expected to know because you tell me things. Because we love each other, and we talk to each other. We do, don’t we?” Sokka asks helplessly. 

“We are literally talking right now,” Zuko says, and rests his forehead on his hand. “Okay. Okay. So. I… I… need to tell you… when... “

“Oh, Tui and La,” Sokka curses. “Are there other things that I don’t know?”

“What, like you tell me everything? What about your Dads? They didn’t know about me at all,” Zuko says tiredly.

“Does your dad know about me?” Sokka asks.

“That’s different,” Zuko says. 

Sokka chews. He watches Zuko not eating. 

“Your family loves you a lot, Sokka,” Zuko says, quietly. “And you love them a lot. And you didn’t think I was important enough to tell them about. So excuse me if I drew some conclusions about how important that made me to you.”

Of course Zuko has it all wrong.

“That’s not true,” Sokka says. “They knew about you. They just made their own assumptions, and when I didn’t confirm them they made more incorrect assumptions.” 

Zuko looks at him. “And did you know they were making those? Because— I didn’t know you were making those about Mai. I wasn’t _trying_ to lie to you.” 

It feels like they’re finally on close to level ground. It’s uneven. Sokka feels his way across carefully. “I wasn’t trying to hurt you, either. Things are different in the South Pole. I guess they’re different in the Fire Nation, too.” 

“Yeah,” Zuko says, and sighs. “I’m just trying to figure out what you need so I can give it to you. I’m not going to assume things anymore.”

“Are you happy with me?” Sokka asks. It’s scary, laying it out in the daylight like that. 

“Generally, or right this second?” Zuko asks.

Sokka makes a face. 

“Generally yes, right now I— have been more thrilled with you,” Zuko says carefully. 

Sokka pops his chin on his hand. “Do you love me?” 

“Yes,” Zuko makes a face.

“Generally, or right now?” Sokka adds. 

“Yes,” Zuko says. 

Good. Relief rushes him. It’s silly, because he was the one ready to end things the night before. But the fight they’re having is big. It’s really big, and Sokka was worried that Mai meant things to Zuko outside of what Sokka can mean. 

“Sokka, why would you…” Zuko stares at him, clearly confused. “Why would you think anything else? I mean, I just— I thought your dads were consorts, and your mother was Hakoda’s intended.” 

“Dad and Bato are an anomaly,” Sokka explains. “Bato was sort of an open secret while mom was alive. After she died,” pain, pain, “nothing really changed between them in the open secret regard. I don’t want that for you. You’re better than a secret, Zuko.” 

He wasn’t expecting the conversation to go this way, and for a moment he worries that he’s said something too strong. 

Zuko looks at the table top for a long moment. 

“Consorts aren’t open secrets,” he says, finally. “They’re not secrets at all. They’re… I guess it’s like…” he’s clearly struggling with his vocabulary. “So your dad _didn’t_ love your mom?”

“Of course he did!” Sokka says, offended. “He loved Bato too. And Mom loved Bato. It’s -- weird. Not bad, but not really how things are done.”

“I can’t ask you that,” Zuko mutters, almost too low for Sokka to catch. “Alright, so, we don’t— the Fire Nation doesn’t need love to marry. We use a lot of contracts for things, I guess, because when it comes to the upper classes we like having things _very_ clearly defined. There’s a lot of dragon spirited people, like me, I guess. It just. Works better, that way, if we spell everything out. Marriage is children, estate management, and rarely, love. I don’t think I’ve ever heard of someone being in love with their spouse and their spouse’s consort, but— Uncle loved his spouse, he never took a consort. And she had one.”

None of this makes sense to Sokka. He rubs at his temples.

“I’ve adapted to the way things are in Republic City a lot,” Sokka says. “There are expectations at home that I have no intentions of following. I guess my question is-- how important is all of that to you?” 

“Extremely,” Zuko says immediately. 

“I don’t think that I can share,” Sokka admits. “It never occurred to me, and thinking about you and Mai-- I don’t feel good. It hurts, and the jealousy is bad. I don’t like it.” 

“No, I know,” Zuko says. “I already told her. She— we’re not going to get married, Sokka.”

Sokka knows that he should ask Zuko if he wants to. It’s the right thing to do, because Zuko keeps talking about what Sokka wants. But he can’t. He’s a coward. If Zuko says that he wants to be with Mai, Sokka doesn’t think he’ll be able to handle it. And he doesn’t know if he can follow through on breaking up with him, not with how much he loves Zuko. He’s taken over Sokka’s heart and Sokka can’t imagine a life without him. 

So he doesn’t ask. He stays blissfully, selfishly ignorant. 

“I don’t want to lose her as my intended, though,” Zuko says, rubbing at his mouth. “I don’t. Please don’t make me choose. She’s my best friend.”

“If she’s your intended,” Sokka asks, carefully toeing the line, “do you have to marry her?” 

“No, that’s just more convenient,” Zuko says, and then slumps back. “Since I’m supposed to have heirs, and so is she, and we trust each other. It made… it made sense.”

“Heirs,” Sokka says quietly, the air punched out of his chest. 

“I’ll burn that bridge when I get to it,” Zuko says, darkly. 

“Uh,” Sokka says, because he thinks he oughta tell Zuko before he forgets and it becomes an issue. “I was engaged before. It was a long time ago, like ten years. It didn’t work out.” 

“Okay?” Zuko says. “Do you… want to try with her again or something?”

That is the last thing Sokka’s expecting, and he snorts, staring incredulously at Zuko. “No way in hell,” he says. 

“Good,” Zuko says, finally taking a bite of his food. “Because I would have been really fucking annoyed if you can marry and I can’t.”

“Rude of you to think I’d be that hypocritical.” 

Zuko shrugs. “I don’t know what you think is rude. That’s the problem, isn’t it?”

Sokka’s tea has gone cold. He tips it back, and stands up, rolling the tension out of his shoulders. “This isn’t something we’re going to figure out over breakfast.” 

Somehow, he feels both better and worse than when he woke up. He senses a trend. 

“I need to know if you want me to—” Zuko’s voice catches, and he takes a sip of his tea. “If you want me to stop seeing Mai.”

There’s layers in what Zuko’s saying, and Sokka hears the catch in his voice. That catch tugs in his chest, and he’s frustrated because his first instinct is _yes please don’t see her I don’t want to be suspicious_. But that’s Sokka’s problem, isn’t it? If he’s not going to trust Zuko, there’s no point in trying to make things work.

He grips the back of the chair and asks, “do you want to keep seeing her?” 

“What do you want me to say?” Zuko asks. When he looks at Sokka, his eyes are red rimmed and tired. 

“The truth,” Sokka says, exasperated. 

“Yes, I want to continue to see my intended,” Zuko says. 

“Then you’ll keep seeing her,” Sokka says, choosing his words carefully. Not because Sokka’s giving permission, but because Zuko wants to see her. “Just don’t see her romantically anymore. That’s all I ask, is that you’re loyal to me.” 

“I— we’re not _romantic,”_ Zuko says, frustrated. “Fuck, I don’t understand anything you’re saying.”

“Can we table this?” Sokka pleads. His nails dig into the wood of the chair back. “I don’t want to fight anymore.” 

“I don’t want to fight with you _either,”_ Zuko snarls. “Which is why I have to— know how to do everything right. But sure, fine, I will wait— twelve hours, I guess.”

“You’re impossible,” Sokka says. 

“I’m going to make this work,” Zuko says, pointing at Sokka. 

“So am I!” Sokka says. Zuko’s face twitches into a smile.

“Yeah, well, if you try and distract me with sex or the allure of never arguing again, I’m going to bite you,” Zuko says. “But yeah. We can pause for now.”

Sokka shifts down to his elbows and grins, swinging his hips behind himself. “You’d bite me anyways, don’t play coy.” 

“I like biting things,” Zuko mutters. He cleans his plate quickly, efficient. “You need a hand at work today?”

That’s a toughie. They’re going to make this work, but Sokka thinks they’re far from okay. Forcing normalcy isn’t good for either of them, as much as he wants to keep Zuko close to mitigate his own insecurities. 

“Wait, it’s Thursday,” Zuko says, and sighs. “I gotta go see Toph. She has new costume ideas or something that she wants to torture me with.”

Ah. Decision out of his hands.

Sokka walks over to Zuko, tips his head up with his hand, and kisses him gently. Zuko’s hand lifts to clutch at Sokka's shirt desperately. He makes a small, hurt sound, and Sokka kisses him again, and a third time.

It’s going to be okay. They’re going to get through this.

“I’ll see you tonight?” Sokka says against Zuko’s mouth.

Zuko nods.

***

Zuko walks into Toph’s office. He’s pushing everything that’s happened out of his mind, mostly unsuccessfully. 

He just— over a decade of plans, of decisions. And he went back on it, because he _loves Sokka._ He feels sick, almost feverish. And maybe Mai _understands_ , but Mai’s more calculated than he’ll ever be. She’s better at being careful with her heart. She chose to let Ty Lee in just as much as Ty Lee bashed through her heart’s fortifications. It’s possible that she just— finally understands that she made a mistake choosing Zuko instead of Azula.

No. He’s not thinking about it. 

As soon as he steps in, he sees that Toph’s been scheming. The walls and floor have tons of little figures popping out of them. 

“It just doesn’t make _sense,”_ Toph groans. 

“What doesn’t?” Zuko asks, picking his way to the chair across from her desk. 

“Sokka,” Toph replies, fingers on her chin. Agni, but Zuko does not want to think about Sokka right now. 

“Yeah, he doesn’t,” Zuko agrees, sitting down. “Did he raise prices again or something?”

“What? No, he got _kidnapped,”_ Toph says. She points to the figures to their left, where she’s recreated the scene from the warehouse.

“Oh,” Zuko says. He had— honestly forgotten about that.

“He fucked your last brain cells to death,” Toph sighs, shaking her head. 

“Wait,” Zuko says, eyes catching on the man from the warehouse, the one who wasn’t a part of Jet’s gang. _That’s right_ , that’s one of his Father’s men.

“Why would they be after Sokka?” Zuko murmurs. “They don’t know that I’m the Blue Spirit, and Sokka’s connection to the Blue Spirit isn’t any different than with all the other vigilantes. 

“Who?” Toph asks, voice sharp. 

“He’s one of my father’s men,” Zuko says, pointing at the figurine. “That’s how I knew he had a family.”

“WHAT?!” Toph shrieks. “I thought you were just being a soft touch! Zuko, that’s— this isn’t about _Sokka._ How much walking around money do you have? What do you have access to, without withdrawing anything? The—” She stomps, and a small building travels across the floor to them. “Banks were closed, they didn’t _want_ you to be able to pay it off.”

“I, not that much?” Zuko says. “Not enough. I would have had to borrow from the family vaults.”

“No,” Toph says, frowning. “You would have had to _steal.”_


End file.
